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spanish poem

questa ciotola d'argento antica di mine
era un oysterman giovane alto
faccia i ragazzi e le ragazze ancora vanno
braided e tessuto
un cielo che non ha conosciuto mai il sole, la luna o le stelle
la notte è scura ed i venti di inverno
era non per quell'odore singolare
sonno, fratello grigio della morte
vedo tutti gli spiriti umani
la nerezza rotola verso l'alto

 



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