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grandmother poem

sto cantando voi
sono andati i tre, quelle sorelle rare
ci č un'ora di riposo pacifico
li ho detestati
una foschia stava guidando giů
perchč cosě triste mio bello?
fra il fumo e nebbia di un pomeriggio di dicembre
short e dolce ed abbiamo arrivato alla fine di esso

 



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