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happy birthday poem

un destello del oro en gloom y gris
plantemos
nunca había un sonido al lado de la madera pero de una
dice de buenas viejas épocas
vea, ellos vuelven
escuche el mar del sonido
cuando voy de nuevo a la tierra
tan perdido
en el puerto de York nueva
en la obscuridad y la paz de mi cama final

 



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