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son poem

quando il velare dagli occhi è alzato
sono andati i tre, quelle sorelle rare
l'odore del è aumentato così falso, le spine così allineare
come le aquile sul high alto
tristi sono che conoscono non l'amore
fiore bianco della gomma piuma, fiore rosso della fiamma
come mi trovo coperto dentro, selezionato dentro
il fratello, sono fuoco
quando i mare-venti hanno perforato i nostri solitudes
chi è il corridore nei cieli
nei numeri mournful
potrebbe conoscerla nella molla più in anticipo
forse

 



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