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poem for pastors

qué yo le deben
o justo y stately criada, que ojos
déjeme ser triste
le cuento con
en sus regimentals desiguales
puesto que he sentido el sentido de la muerte
un pequeño melocotón en la huerta creció
en pueda
el cuerpo puede confinar
todo mi amor para mi dulce
si el asesino rojo piensa él mata
pájaros contra el viento de abril
simplicidad

 



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