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fall poetry

oí el viento todo el dia
con rojo de la sangre de los labios y el corazón de la piedra
la hija, arte del thou viene morir
el sol caminó abajo de su trono de oro
todavía trece años
ella cojea con parar paso doloroso
lo vi una vez antes
las viejas canciones
¡bajo!' tis a la noche de la gala
en el frunce de la oscuridad y piden
debajo del timón del guerrero

 



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