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grandma poem

il pietoso piccolo, portato, facce ridere
pensate, il mio ragazzo, quando metto i miei bracci intorno voi
aumentato dai morti
amo la mia ora di vento e di luce
fra le montagne ho vagato
mi levo in piedi nel tempo grigio freddo
cammino giù i percorsi del giardino
la mia madre lo ha insegnato che ogni notte
rose ed oro
quando i mare-venti hanno perforato i nostri solitudes
sto morendo
non brucio incenso

 



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