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anniversary poetry

il prato stava strisciando
faccio la mia protezione, ma nessuno sa
perchè sono le cose che non hanno morte
i giorni hypocritic
fiore bianco della gomma piuma, fiore rosso della fiamma
nelle mattine nube-grige
ci è una città, builded da nessuna mano
prima del san bronze solenne
sposti la terra in tempo nuvoloso
la pioggia finito e l'aria brillante
composto del loveliness da solo

 



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