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child poem

ha scoppiato il vino feroce
per allora senza
babylon -- dove vado sognare
la mia anima va placcata nelle cose gorgeous
la mia anima è un campo arato scuro
perchè così triste mio bello?
ha sentito i bambini giocare al sole
non eravamo molti
morbidamente piangendo
ho visto con gli occhi aperti
sceso all'alba dalle colline windless
ciò è l'arsenale
lungo una riva del fiume

 



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