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death poem

le montagne sono gente silenziosa
esprimiamo le nostre passioni piů basse
l'alba era verde mela
sotto il timone del guerriero
basso! 'tis un la notte di gala
sopra il fiume beckon a me
sto morendo
qui cade nessuna luce
vi ricordate di
musing, fra il tramonto e l'oscuritŕ
figlie di tempo

 



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