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urdu poetry

pensamientos a través de mi cabeza
la hija, arte del thou viene morir
éstos sean
en el puerto de York nueva
dios
soplador de vidrio del tiempo
ella oyó a niños el jugar en el sol
noche misteriosa
ésos en el superior dicen que le conocen, tierra -- son mentirosos
no hay presa yo de pensamientos pobres

 



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