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sorry poem

il mio figlio è guasto e sono ciechi andanti
a che cosa una donna la paragonerà cara
sotto la luna della raccolta
sonno, fratello grigio della morte
quale si conservare
non dal mondo largo di tutto
ho lanciato il mondo
ultima mezzanotte
quando il vento funziona contro di noi nell'oscurità
veda che mi dò voi
perchè
noi che si sono levati in piedi

 



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