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son poem

il prato stava strisciando
come candela bianca
fiori dei bambini
chi ama la pioggia
quando ho esaminato i vostri occhi
con gli occhi meek e marroni
questi cuori sono stati tessuti delle gioie umane e cure
lascilo essere triste
sopra loro tutte, osservando giů
era non per quell'odore singolare
la neve bisbiglia circa me

 



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