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friendship poems

basso! 'tis un la notte di gala
la mia anima è un campo arato scuro
fiore bianco della gomma piuma, fiore rosso della fiamma
penso spesso alla città bella
rinnovi la visione di piacere
vivo dalla riva del fiume
il bambino che ha gettato via il foglio dopo il foglio
da solo
sceso all'alba dalle colline windless
con i suoi capelli che flaying sfrenatamente
corsa alto-sopportata

 



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