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poetry for kid

la noche es oscura, y los vientos del invierno
aflíjase no para el invisible
cuando usted viene esta noche
mi madre me trenza las rosas mojadas con rocío
soy cansado de ser amargo y cansado de ser sabio
simplemente hablando
pero alas, sueños justos
dije
cuál deseo comentar
entre las montañas vagué
arqueó la inundación
ella era una belleza en los días

 



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