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grandmother poem

tristi sono che conoscono non l'amore
sonno, fratello grigio della morte
ed il mio nome è sincero
musing, fra il tramonto e l'oscuritĂ 
i giorni malinconici sono venuto
candele che si rovesciano obliquamente in latte del pomodoro
per ero un consigliere gaunt e grave
il vecchio ovest, il vecchio tempo
le ombre delle navi
piantiamo
faccio la mia protezione, ma nessuno sa
e mentre abbiamo camminato l'erba debolmente è stata mescolata
quando ero si è rotto a Londra

 



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