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nature poem

ho scagliato la mia anima all'aria come un volo del falco
non rimanga nient'altro
dice a di buoni vecchi periodi
la mia anima è un campo arato scuro
aumentato dai morti
sonno, fratello grigio della morte
sopra loro tutte, osservando giĂą
dio
felicitĂ 
non ci è moltitudine, comunque guardato e teso
appena come mie barrette su queste chiavi
ci è una città, builded da nessuna mano
alti pareti ed enorme
rompiamo il vetro di cui vino sacred

 



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