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mom poem

fiori dei bambini
e pane del breaketh non di più
le ombre delle navi
i poets dicono a
quegli occhi neri i una volta così elogiato
così perso
conosco non dove
poiché ho ritenuto il senso della morte
da me indegno e sconosciuto
benchè sia piccolo come tutte le cose piccole
con gli occhi meek e marroni
come livellare cade

 



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