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gothic poetry

un poet, prendente il freno fuori della sua linguetta
lungo una riva del fiume
la donna molto ha mancato, come denominate a me, chiamata a me
metŕ di piaceri e palazzi benchč possiamo vagare
la signora, il vostro cuore si č girata verso polvere
non ci č moltitudine, comunque guardato e teso
nelle mattine nube-grige

 



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