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thanksgiving poem

al lato di un campo raso
nelle mattine nube-grige
e pane del breaketh non di piů
stuff della luna
amo non troppo bene la mia vita, ma
basamento qui dal mio lato
faccialo rotare giů dal prato
all'interno di questa tomba umile un conqueror si trova
la nerezza
dove io trovili
ho visto le nubi fra le colline
forse
la luce ritirata
provato nel glimmer nei vostri occhi

 



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