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mom poem

una pesca piccola nel frutteto si è sviluppata
la pioggia finito e l'aria brillante
la signora, il vostro cuore si è girata verso polvere
i giorni endeared ad ogni MUSE
figlie di tempo
benchè sia piccolo come tutte le cose piccole
in corridoi di sonno avete vagato vicino
forse
dal profondo e l'oscurità
veda lo sperimentale
nei loro regimentals ragged

 



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