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father poem

prima del san bronze solenne
dite che lo amate
faccialo rotare giů dal prato
le preghiere bianche piccole
provato nel glimmer nei vostri occhi
mi chiedono dove sono stato
improvvisamente, dai sensi scuri e frondosi
felicitŕ
mescolisi
ottanta anni hanno passato e piů
ero un goddess ere il marmo lo ha trovato
non sia arrabbiato con me
glooms delle viv-quercie

 



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