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short poem

il mio figlio è guasto e sono ciechi andanti
amavo una donna
quando i mare-venti hanno perforato i nostri solitudes
di ci non era mai un suono al lato il legno ma uno
basso! 'tis un la notte di gala
le navi stanno trovandosi nella baia
la pioggia finito e l'aria brillante
nei numeri mournful
dove io trovili
sotto il foglio dusky dell'alloro
composto del loveliness da solo
ombre alate che scopano vicino
in un vecchio alloggiamento si è illuminato morbidamente

 



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