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sad poem

quando libertą dalla sua altezza della montagna
quanto selvaggio, come strega-come bizzarro che la vita dovrebbe essere
glass-blower di tempo
da solo
fiori dei bambini
non dal mondo largo di tutto
perchč sono le cose che non hanno morte
era non per quell'odore singolare
truely
dialo
questa ciotola d'argento antica di mine
scuro-eyed

 



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