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autumn poetry

antes del santo de bronce solemne
vi con los ojos abiertos
la lluvia encima, y el aire brillante
oscuro-eyed
si había sabido el estrecho una prisión es amor
su cara es justa y lisa y fina
venido abajo en el amanecer de las colinas windless
flores de bebés
no me quemo ningún incienso

 



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