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romantic poetry

e mentre abbiamo camminato l'erba debolmente è stata mescolata
in qualche luogo ho letto un racconto sconosciuto, vecchio, arrugginito
con i suoi capelli che flaying sfrenatamente
conosco non dove
quegli occhi neri i una volta così elogiato
non prego per pace
l'alba era verde mela

 



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