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happy birthday poem

benchè sia piccolo come tutte le cose piccole
la mia anima è un campo arato scuro
sedendosi nel suo attuatore che aspetta il vostro tè
li ha fatti mai sentono parlare
al lato di un campo raso
come lui di chi spirito nella fiammata del mezzogiorno
limps con la fermata del passo doloroso
splendido e terribile il vostro amore
un miglio dietro
sono andati i tre, quelle sorelle rare

 



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