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son poem

la figlia, l'arte di thou viene morire
sposti la terra in tempo nuvoloso
quando un atto č fatto per la libertŕ
abbiamo nessuno shame?
tranquillamente, con il reverance, nel awe
agito i miei capelli nel vento della mattina
su e giů va
sotto il foglio dusky dell'alloro
tristi sono che conoscono non l'amore
un gleam di oro il gloom in e gray

 



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