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friend poetry

in tutte le cose non parlate di
mai in tutta la mia vita
agito i miei capelli nel vento della mattina
un poet, prendente il freno fuori della sua linguetta
le stelle sono caduto da cielo
sotto la luna della raccolta
faccialo rotare giů dal prato
basso! 'tis un la notte di gala
l'aria č come una farfalla
aumentato dai morti
sono il vento che esita

 



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