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poetry for kid

dal ponticello rude
rompiamo il vetro di cui vino sacred
sono andati i tre, quelle sorelle rare
l'alba era verde mela
pensate, il mio ragazzo, quando metto i miei bracci intorno voi
ho visto i archangels nel mio mela-albero la notte scorsa
all'interno di questa tomba umile un conqueror si trova
stella-polvere e luce vaporous

 



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