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father poem

sotto la mia finestra in una via della cittŕ
ci sono tre sensi in cui gli uomini prendono
qui cade nessuna luce
nel gather di nerezza e chiedono
ci sono guadagni per tutte le nostre perdite
poiché ho ritenuto il senso della morte
serene di pomeriggio e luminoso verdi
con di anima dei labbri colore rosso e cuore della pietra
quando ero si č rotto a Londra
la signora, il vostro cuore si č girata verso polvere
passato inesorabile di thou
alcuni giorni piů ventosi

 



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