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kid poem

la figlia, l'arte di thou viene morire
da solo
in qualche luogo ho letto un racconto sconosciuto, vecchio, arrugginito
dite che lo amate
glass-blower di tempo
era molte e molto un anno fa
la donna molto ha mancato, come denominate a me, chiamata a me
osservare di lŕ
conosco non dove
il mio dispiacere, quando č qui con me
come livellare cade
lungamente fa la luce solare di estate lucidare

 



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