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father poem

nel vostro volo
felicità
in settembre
l'alba era verde mela
al lato di un campo raso
tristemente parlando
mi levo in piedi nel tempo grigio freddo
perchè
se avessi saputo lo stretto una prigione è amore
nel gather di nerezza e chiedono
nobility della morte ancora
ora mentre i miei labbri stanno vivendo
del sole né stelle

 



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