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best love poems

la noche es oscura, y los vientos del invierno
el prado se arrastraba
me preguntan donde he estado
repentinamente, fuera de maneras oscuras y frondosas
un pequeño melocotón en la huerta creció
sueño, hermano gris de la muerte
para la verdad, para el amor
dentro de mi mano sostengo
expresemos nuestras pasiones más bajas

 



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