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funeral poem

per questi bracci bianchi circa il mio collo
calma come che seconda estate
parla non bene
come le aquile sul high alto
la canzone e sogno da per andato mai
le canzoni antiche
non c'sono nessuna preda io dei pensieri difficili
basso! 'tis un la notte di gala
rumori che si sforzano strapparsi
cosě perso
stuff della luna
fate non sentirsi
ho visto le nubi fra le colline

 



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