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math poem

e con l'uccello di ronzio
nelle mattine nube-grige
felicità
rumori che si sforzano strapparsi
perchè allora, il mosto noi vede?
il più triste dell'anno
per ero un consigliere gaunt e grave
un miglio dietro
li ho sentiti nella notte
lungo una riva del fiume
con di anima dei labbri colore rosso e cuore della pietra

 



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