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spanish poem

con los ojos mansos, marrones
cuando, lleno de amor caliente e impaciente
una pluma del acero
vi las nubes entre las colinas
dentro de este sepulcro humilde un conqueror miente
de'bil-se va volando la canción
no sea falso
la hija, arte del thou viene morir
vea que me doy usted
para estos brazos blancos sobre mi cuello
los pequeńos rezos blancos

 



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