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cittŕ che non č una cittŕ
andato prima di noi
sono andato su e giů le vie
il mio figlio č guasto e sono ciechi andanti
all'alba, ha detto
non sia falso
le preghiere bianche piccole
un'ombra grigia sottile sul bordo di pensiero
se esso
rose ed oro
dicami
quando ho esaminato i vostri occhi

 



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