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angel poem

era l'autunno dell'anno
sposti la terra in tempo nuvoloso
non eravamo molti
sono stancare di essere amaro e stancare di essere saggio
lungo una riva del fiume
non si addolori che finito
con il tramonto
sotto la luna della raccolta
li ha fatti mai sentono parlare
behold me, in miei chiffon, garza e canutiglia
quando le ore del giorno sono numerate
truely

 



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