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lost love poem

mi dolor, cuando ella está aquí con mí
soy el viento que duda
el existir del cisne
muy bien, usted liberales
amo robar un rato lejos
de nuestros lugares ocultados
no me quemo ningún incienso
está a menudo no tan?
le hizo oyen hablar siempre
en el amanecer, él dijo
caras hermosas, tragical

 



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