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thanksgiving poetry

ad alcuno i dii grassi
scuro-eyed
tutto l'mio amore per il mio dolce
il mio dispiacere, quando č qui con me
mistero piů scuro e piů sconosciuto
questa ciotola d'argento antica di mine
non eravamo molti
morbidamente ora la luce del giorno
non appenda corona
perchč cosě triste mio bello?
era non per quell'odore singolare

 



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