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sister poem

un poet, prendente il freno fuori della sua linguetta
una tempesta sta guidando sulla marea
sono il vento che esita
perchč cosě triste mio bello?
o giusta e stately domestica, di cui occhi
ero un goddess ere il marmo lo ha trovato
non ho saputo mai che la terra ha avuta cosě tanto oro
figlie di tempo
quando venite stasera
dal mare scintillante
come le aquile sul high alto

 



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