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mother daughter poem

era un oysterman giovane alto
appena come mie barrette su queste chiavi
in sua tenda custodita
la notte era nera e drear
il mio figlio è guasto e sono ciechi andanti
tempesta
quando ho rinviato al tramonto
gli archi del ponticello rosso
glass-blower di tempo
sceso all'alba dalle colline windless
ho avuto un timore nella mia vita
faccio la mia protezione, ma nessuno sa

 



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