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sad poetry

faccialo rotare giů dal prato
il merriment infinito e insensato delle stelle
lascili pity coloro di che sia migliore fuori che noi sono
lasci una conservazione di gioia voi
ho fatto una volta soltanto un voto, uno
all'alba, ha detto
perchč allora, il mosto noi vede?
il prato stava strisciando
sono il vento che esita

 



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