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narrative poetry

per verità, per amore
perchè così triste mio bello?
ci è un'ora di riposo pacifico
questa ciotola d'argento antica di mine
tutti dentro e tutti senza di me
una parola di volo di qui e là
li ha fatti mai vedono un coccodrillo
uccelli contro il vento di aprile
benchè sia piccolo come tutte le cose piccole

 



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