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father poem

il mio figlio è guasto e sono ciechi andanti
glooms delle viv-quercie
con gioia e wonder
è spesso non così?
la nerezza ruba le forme di tutte le regine
ha sentito i bambini giocare al sole
osservare di là
amo rubare per un po'via
amico, di cui il sorriso è venuto essere
tutti quei tesori che si trovano

 



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