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short poem

era non per quell'odore singolare
potrebbe conoscerla nella molla più in anticipo
mi levo in piedi nel tempo grigio freddo
una volta questo tappeto erboso molle
tranquillamente, con il reverance, nel awe
la mia madre twines me rose bagnate con rugiada
ho fatto una pausa la stoffa per tendine aperta
tristemente parlando
rumori che si sforzano strapparsi
ancora il suo gray oscilla la torretta sopra il mare

 



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