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mom poem

poiché ho ritenuto il senso della morte
desolato e solo
la luna aumentante ha nascosto le stelle
era un oysterman giovane alto
ancora tredici anni
lasci una conservazione di gioia voi
braided e tessuto
passando tramite le pareti huddled ed ugly
del sole né stelle
quando le ore del giorno sono numerate
disprezzo i miei amici più di voi
per coprire il pensiero ardente
questa ciotola d'argento antica di mine

 



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