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grandmother poem

ho vinto la corsa
e cosě va
chi chiamerŕ il vento
la mia anima va placcata nelle cose gorgeous
la notte era nera e drear
potrebbe conoscerla nella molla piů in anticipo
in sua tenda custodita
perchč
il giorno č fatto
penso spesso alla cittŕ bella
il singolo pugno serrato alzato e ready

 



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