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love poetry

la figlia, l'arte di thou viene morire
lo ho visto una volta prima
il mio figlio guasto e sono ciechi andanti
basamento qui dal mio lato
da me indegno e sconosciuto
ci qualcuno l
l'aria come una farfalla
limps con la fermata del passo doloroso
in corridoi di sonno avete vagato vicino
sto morendo
ho visto le nubi fra le colline
vecchio vino da bere

 



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