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christmas poem

là dalla finestra nella vecchia casa
è spesso non così?
sotto la luna della raccolta
e pane del breaketh non di più
perchè sono le cose che non hanno morte
chi è il corridore nei cieli
bello
uccelli contro il vento di aprile
come come le stelle è questo il bianco, facce nameless
buona donna
vado il mio senso complacently

 



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