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death poetry

avete camminare visto attraverso il villaggio
il singolo pugno serrato alzato e ready
travails della terra
il mio dispiacere, quando è qui con me
sotto la mia finestra in una via della città
siete bei e sbiaditi
cammino giù i percorsi del giardino
la donna molto ha mancato, come denominate a me, chiamata a me
questa ciotola d'argento antica di mine

 



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