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mom poem

il piů triste dell'anno
una foschia stava guidando giů
sotto la luna della raccolta
calma come che seconda estate
dai prati ricchi con cereale
che cosa io devono voi
mi levo in piedi nel tempo grigio freddo
ho visto con gli occhi aperti
cammino giů i percorsi del giardino
sia in me come gli atteggiamenti eternal
benchč sia piccolo come tutte le cose piccole
č andato

 



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