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poem for pastors

vedo tutti gli spiriti umani
le navi stanno trovandosi nella baia
ultima mezzanotte
in sua tenda custodita
un cielo che non ha conosciuto mai il sole, la luna o le stelle
fra le montagne ho vagato
sotto la luna della raccolta
non eravamo molti
candele che si rovesciano obliquamente in latte del pomodoro
per verità, per amore
la figlia, l'arte di thou viene morire
portimi la canzone morbida

 



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