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good bye poem

faccialo rotare giů dal prato
la festivitŕ reale č stata fatta
il vecchio ovest, il vecchio tempo
dal ponticello rude
vivo dalla riva del fiume
siete chiari
e mentre abbiamo camminato l'erba debolmente č stata mescolata
ho scagliato la mia anima all'aria come un volo del falco
una foschia stava guidando giů
un pensiero dolce solenne
siete bei e sbiaditi

 



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