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life poetry

ci č una cittŕ, builded da nessuna mano
vecchio vino da bere
sceso all'alba dalle colline windless
il mio figlio č guasto e sono ciechi andanti
sto morendo
il sole č in su
sopra i tetti corra le ombre delle nubi
i giorni malinconici sono venuto
non c'sono nessuna preda io dei pensieri difficili

 



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