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death poem

mi alma es un campo arado oscuro
el olor del se levantĂł tan falso, las espinas tan verdades
vi que el dios usted la duda?
cuál guarda
dice de buenas viejas épocas
¡bajo!' tis a la noche de la gala
usted dice que usted me ama
ésos en el superior dicen que le conocen, tierra -- son mentirosos

 



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