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friend poem

si él
mi hijo es muerto y soy persiana que va
sobre el río, en la colina
era muchas y mucho hace un ańo
ˇbajo!' tis a la noche de la gala
el aire es lleno de amanecer y de resorte
musing, entre la puesta del sol y la obscuridad
veo todos los ingenios humanos
raza alto-llevada
sé no dónde
el cielo
y como caminamos la hierba fue revuelta débilmente
estoy viejo y oculto

 



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