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christmas poems

l'aria č piena l'alba del e la molla
parla non bene
come lui di chi spirito nella fiammata del mezzogiorno
i loro capelli bei
questa ciotola d'argento antica di mine
ho entrato nel deserto perché la mia anima č athirst
amilo in fine, o se non
le ombre delle navi
dai prati ricchi con cereale
ci era uno strangeness sui vostri labbri
i corridoi di marmo resounding lunghi
dai nostri posti nascosti

 



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