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poems

un poet, prendente il freno fuori della sua linguetta
ed ancora hanno camminato sopra
short e dolce ed abbiamo arrivato alla fine di esso
č venuto prenderlo dalla mano
ma non posso ora leggerlo
desolato e solo
ed il mio nome č sincero
ha una radura, loveliness vento-riparato
tutti gli anni sfavorevoli
i cieli che erano ashen e sobrio

 



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