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sad death poem

sopra il fiume, sulla collina
non eravamo molti
la nerezza ruba le forme di tutte le regine
in vostri bracci era il piacere tranquillo
che cosa noi ora farŕ
quando ero si č rotto a Londra
uccelli contro il vento di aprile
tutti gli anni sfavorevoli
amo non troppo bene la mia vita, ma

 



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