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family poem

la figlia, l'arte di thou viene morire
il bambino che ha gettato via il foglio dopo il foglio
tutti gli anni sfavorevoli
il merriment infinito e insensato delle stelle
non sia falso
sto cantando voi
i poets dicono a
lungamente fa, nel moonlight giovane
l'aria è come una farfalla
quando ero si è rotto a Londra
quando i mare-venti hanno perforato i nostri solitudes
appena come mie barrette su queste chiavi

 



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