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mother daughter poem

ha scoppiato il vino feroce
non ci è moltitudine, comunque guardato e teso
di ci non era mai un suono al lato il legno ma uno
lungo le serie
rompiamo il vetro di cui vino sacred
la mia anima è un campo arato scuro
calma come che seconda estate
sedendosi nel suo attuatore che aspetta il vostro tè

 



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