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death poetry

lasci il unsaid bello di parole
non ho saputo mai che la terra ha avuta cosě tanto oro
sono il vento che esita
quale desidero rilevare
faccio la mia protezione, ma nessuno sa
malinconia, azzurro era
dai nostri posti nascosti
lucida l'ultima etŕ, il seguente con speranza č visto
uccelli contro il vento di aprile
tristi sono che conoscono non l'amore

 



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