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prose poetry

la figlia, l'arte di thou viene morire
sopra il fiume beckon a me
quale si conservare
ora
short e dolce ed abbiamo arrivato alla fine di esso
era una bellezza nei giorni
da solo
sono nell'amore con gli alti posti far-seeing
amo rubare per un po'via
senza dubbio mi ricordo di ancora
la notte era nera e drear
la terra mantiene certo andare di vibrazione
era non per quell'odore singolare
che probabilitŕ spiteful ruba i unawares

 



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