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gothic poetry

non eravamo molti
i nostri momenti piacevoli volano
la pioggia finito e l'aria brillante
amo la mia ora di vento e di luce
in sua tenda custodita
uno per uno, come va da un albero
improvvisamente, dai sensi scuri e frondosi
non c'sono nessuna preda io dei pensieri difficili
non si addolori che finito

 



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