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african american poetry

sono vecchio e cieco
l'aria č piena l'alba del e la molla
li ho detestati
nel vostro volo
ottanta anni hanno passato e piů
abbiamo nessuno shame?
quando libertŕ dalla sua altezza della montagna
in vostri bracci era il piacere tranquillo
lasci una conservazione di gioia voi
fiore bianco della gomma piuma, fiore rosso della fiamma

 



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