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haiku poem

quando vado di nuovo a terra
il prato stava strisciando
la nerezza rotola verso l'alto
come lui di chi spirito nella fiammata del mezzogiorno
è venuto prenderlo dalla mano
alla mezzanotte
glooms delle viv-quercie
ho visto la prima pera
in tutte le cose non parlate di
ciò è l'arsenale
mai in tutta la mia vita
dicami non

 



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