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sorry poem

stuff della luna
per questi bracci bianchi circa il mio collo
quando il vento funziona contro di noi nell'oscurità
ci è uno che quella i amava una volta così tanto
sono vecchio e cieco
sedendosi nel suo attuatore che aspetta il vostro tè
fiore bianco della gomma piuma, fiore rosso della fiamma
la fragranza è venuto
portimi la canzone morbida
travails della terra
ancora il suo gray oscilla la torretta sopra il mare

 



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