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family poem

città che non è una città
il mio figlio è guasto e sono ciechi andanti
era l'autunno dell'anno
li ho detestati
al lato di un campo raso
non posso ritenere sempre il suo greatness
ha sentito i bambini giocare al sole
uccelli contro il vento di aprile
l'agonia di avere troppa alimentazione

 



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