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poems

dar nu pot să vă citesc acum
i calea mea merge complacently
cade ca seara
în domeniul
de înaltă rasă nascut
ne-au pic de ruşine?
şal de pământ în vremea tulbure
formată din farmec singur
vă sunt clare
fi pacient, de viaţă, când dragostea este la poarta
i dacă ar trebui să moară, cred că doar de asta mi
zi, se face

 



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