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type of poem

non posso ora dirvi
e mentre abbiamo camminato l'erba debolmente č stata mescolata
fiore bianco della gomma piuma, fiore rosso della fiamma
pensieri tramite la mia testa
rinnovi la visione di piacere
in settembre
il piů triste dell'anno
sentite la pioggia?
un'ombra grigia sottile sul bordo di pensiero

 



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