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grandmother poem

forse è materia che avete morto
piantiamo
qui si trova una signora la più bella
in settembre
lasci una conservazione di gioia voi
perchè allora, il mosto noi vede?
mi levo in piedi nel tempo grigio freddo
agito i miei capelli nel vento della mattina
mescolisi
quando la notte va alla deriva lungo le vie della città
era molte e molto un anno fa

 



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