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famous poem

semplicemente parlando
forse è materia che avete morto
siete bei e sbiaditi
la fragranza è venuto
i giorni hypocritic
amo la mia ora di vento e di luce
quando ero un ragazzo all'università
come lui di chi spirito nella fiammata del mezzogiorno
nei numeri mournful
scuro-eyed
questa ciotola d'argento antica di mine
in settembre
oscillato nella culla del profondo
glass-blower di tempo

 



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