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life poem

chi ama la pioggia
l'alba era verde mela
gaily attraverso i campi abbiamo ballato
la figlia, l'arte di thou viene morire
ci situiamo
il corpo può limitare
un cielo che non ha conosciuto mai il sole, la luna o le stelle
a che cosa una donna la paragonerà cara
bello
nei loro regimentals ragged
tristemente parlando
noi che si sono levati in piedi

 



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