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friend poem

la figlia, l'arte di thou viene morire
sentite la pioggia?
non giri la vostra testa
lucida l'ultima età, il seguente con speranza è visto
o giusta e stately domestica, di cui occhi
così caduto
mi chiedono dove sono stato
la mia madre twines me rose bagnate con rugiada
semplicemente parlando

 



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