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all'interno di questa tomba umile un conqueror si trova
poco cancello stato raggiunto in fine
morbidamente ora la luce del giorno
nelle mattine nube-grige
il pietoso piccolo, portato, facce ridere
amo la mia ora di vento e di luce
dal sud alla rottura del giorno
la fragranza venuto
abbiamo nessuno shame?
un poet, prendente il freno fuori della sua linguetta
fiore bianco della gomma piuma, fiore rosso della fiamma

 



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