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sad death poem

la donna molto ha mancato, come denominate a me, chiamata a me
ho lanciato il mondo
sono andati i tre, quelle sorelle rare
dialo
sotto il timone del guerriero
sono il vento che esita
dai nostri posti nascosti
ad alcuno i dii grassi
non c'sono nessuna preda io dei pensieri difficili
ancora il suo gray oscilla la torretta sopra il mare
non ci č moltitudine, comunque guardato e teso

 



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