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footprint poem

ci è una città, builded da nessuna mano
perchè allora, il mosto noi vede?
i giorni endeared ad ogni MUSE
non giri la vostra testa
lasci una conservazione di gioia voi
lasci il unsaid bello di parole
quando, pieno di amore caldo e desideroso
la pioggia finito e l'aria brillante
mondo che cambia sotto la mia mano
dai prati ricchi con cereale
poco cancello è stato raggiunto in fine

 



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