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thanksgiving poem

amilo in fine, o se non
amo la mia ora di vento e di luce
siete svegli?
glooms delle viv-quercie
non prego per pace
le canzoni antiche
desolato e solo
le montagne sono gente silenziosa
sto morendo
la donna molto ha mancato, come denominate a me, chiamata a me
malinconia, azzurro era
e mentre abbiamo camminato l'erba debolmente è stata mescolata

 



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