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funeral poem

sto morendo
le preghiere bianche piccole
dai nostri posti nascosti
ho vinto la corsa
sopra i tetti corra le ombre delle nubi
fra il fumo e nebbia di un pomeriggio di dicembre
due file dei cavoli
che cosa era esso i motori detti
amo rubare per un po'via
se esso
che cosa noi ora farŕ
poco cancello č stato raggiunto in fine
vi ricordate di
da me indegno e sconosciuto

 



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