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writing poetry

parla non bene
la sua faccia č giusta e liscia e fine
osservare di lŕ
una tempesta sta guidando sulla marea
nel porto di nuovo York
mi domando dove vivete
ho avuto un sogno e mi sono svegliato con esso
impaurito nient'altro, dico
tutti quei tesori che si trovano
figlie di tempo

 



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