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funny poem

la figlia, l'arte di thou viene morire
tristemente parlando
rompiamo il vetro di cui vino sacred
al lover appassionato
la mia madre lo ha insegnato che ogni notte
dicami
quando, pieno di amore caldo e desideroso
non ci è moltitudine, comunque guardato e teso
o giusta e stately domestica, di cui occhi
il lampo ha esposto a flash ed ha alzato

 



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