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type of poetry

bucks neri grassi in una stanza del vino-barilotto
mi domando dove vivete
con gli occhi meek e marroni
ha incurvato l'inondazione
ottanta anni hanno passato e piů
ancora tredici anni
non posso ora dirvi
che probabilitŕ spiteful ruba i unawares
le montagne sono gente silenziosa

 



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