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writing poetry

pensate, il mio ragazzo, quando metto i miei bracci intorno voi
prima del san bronze solenne
facce belle e tragical
il sole č in su
la nerezza ruba le forme di tutte le regine
desolato e solo
tutto l'mio amore per il mio dolce
questi cuori sono stati tessuti delle gioie umane e cure

 



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