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romantic poetry

braided e tessuto
la neve bisbiglia circa me
passando tramite le pareti huddled ed ugly
sto morendo
il mio dispiacere, quando č qui con me
in pieno delle rotture
tutti quei tesori che si trovano
basso! 'tis un la notte di gala
conosco non dove
perchč allora, il mosto noi vede?

 



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