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love poem

estoy muriendo
a través del pecho de dolor de la amplia tierra
tristes son que saben no amor
un destello del oro en gloom y gris
mejore que el granito
el banquete real fue hecho
en y encendido
ella era una belleza en los días
un poeta, tomando el frenillo de su lengüeta
los días hypocritic
era una diosa ere el mármol me encontró
vi la primera pera
vivido por la orilla

 



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