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sad death poem

parla non bene
su e giů va
travails della terra
burly, humble-ape fare un pisolino
ho sentito tutto il giorno il vento
l'aria č piena l'alba del e la molla
agito i miei capelli nel vento della mattina
osservare di lŕ
il padrone dei destini umani sono io
per ero un consigliere gaunt e grave
non appenda corona
la nerezza
non posso ritenere sempre il suo greatness

 



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