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angel poem

dal puntello, dal mare
sto morendo
la notte č scura ed i venti di inverno
hanno gettato una pietra, voi hanno gettato una pietra
ottanta anni hanno passato e piů
mi domando dove vivete
ho visto che hunched e rabbrividendo sulle pietre
la gradisco
non posso ora dirvi
non sia arrabbiato con me
quando venite stasera
dal mare scintillante

 



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