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spanish poem

tristes sont ils qui savent pas l'amour
donc je ne puis pas
pour venir tellement bientôt à ceci a imaginé l'obscurité
la pluie plus de, et l'air brillant
stand ici par mon côté
pour ces bras blancs au sujet de mon cou
laissez-moi se déplacer lentement par la rue
en dessous de cette tombe modeste un conqueror se trouve
si je meurs, pensez seulement ceci Ă  moi
est souvent il pas aussi?

 



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