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life poem

sonno, fratello grigio della morte
il mio figlio è guasto e sono ciechi andanti
là dalla finestra nella vecchia casa
due file dei cavoli
potrebbe conoscerla nella molla più in anticipo
basso! 'tis un la notte di gala
chi chiamerà il vento
tramite il seno facente male della vasta terra
sono il vento che esita

 



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