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angel poem

questa ciotola d'argento antica di mine
o giusta e stately domestica, di cui occhi
l'aria è come una farfalla
era un oysterman giovane alto
desolato e solo
avete camminare visto attraverso il villaggio
e pane del breaketh non di piĂą
li prevedo
mi chiedono dove sono stato
scattando in su, cadendo
esprimiamo le nostre passioni piĂą basse
mi levo in piedi nel tempo grigio freddo

 



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