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footprint poem

il cielo
vecchio vino da bere
ascolti
la mia anima è un campo arato scuro
quando le ore del giorno sono numerate
la mia madre lo ha insegnato che ogni notte
ultima mezzanotte
splendor dolce
e mentre abbiamo camminato l'erba debolmente è stata mescolata
ci è una città, builded da nessuna mano
tristemente parlando
vivo dalla riva del fiume
come le aquile sul high alto

 



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