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romantic poem

in qualche luogo ho letto un racconto sconosciuto, vecchio, arrugginito
andato prima di noi
ho fatto una volta soltanto un voto, uno
con i suoi capelli che flaying sfrenatamente
se muoio, pensi soltanto questo me
poiché ho ritenuto il senso della morte
in sua tenda custodita
è spesso non così?
quando libertà dalla sua altezza della montagna
la gradisco
il sole è in su
calma come che seconda estate

 



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