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prose poetry

nella sfera
fra il fumo e nebbia di un pomeriggio di dicembre
pensate, il mio ragazzo, quando metto i miei bracci intorno voi
come lui di chi spirito nella fiammata del mezzogiorno
il sole ha fatto un passo giů dal suo throne dorato
non sia falso
il padrone dei destini umani sono io
un gleam di oro il gloom in e gray
dicami
qui cade nessuna luce

 



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