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son poem

passato inesorabile di thou
al lato di un campo raso
il piů triste dell'anno
le ombre delle navi
come mi trovo coperto dentro, selezionato dentro
la notte era nera e drear
ci erano tre nel prato dal ruscello
impaurito nient'altro, dico
era un oysterman giovane alto
ottanta anni hanno passato e piů
tranquillamente, con il reverance, nel awe
lascilo essere triste

 



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