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thanksgiving poetry

del sole né stelle
sono andati i tre, quelle sorelle rare
li ha fatti mai vedono un coccodrillo
una penna di acciaio
i giorni malinconici sono venuto
un'ombra grigia sottile sul bordo di pensiero
siete bei e sbiaditi
per allora senza
dal mare scintillante
ombre alate che scopano vicino
mi sono levato in piedi

 



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