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mother daughter poem

le preghiere bianche piccole
ma alas, sogni giusti
pensate, il mio ragazzo, quando metto i miei bracci intorno voi
nobility della morte ancora
un poet, prendente il freno fuori della sua linguetta
li prevedo
fate sentirsi
un cielo che non ha conosciuto mai il sole, la luna o le stelle
sedendosi nel suo attuatore che aspetta il vostro tè

 



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