Arthur Rimbaud

This quote was added by naigabi
Iré, cuando la tarde cante, azul, en verano, herido por el trigo, a pisar la pradera; soñador, sentiré su frescor en mis plantas y dejaré que el viento me bañe la cabeza.

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eventlogging 170.00 100%
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space_eagle12 116.15 97.7%
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koliandro 109.45 100%
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