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suicide poetry

l'aria è piena l'alba del e la molla
rose ed oro
fate non sentirsi
era una bellezza nei giorni
con gli occhi meek e marroni
dialo
sotto la mia finestra in una via della città
amo la mia ora di vento e di luce
le ombre pongono lungo broadway
lucida l'ultima età, il seguente con speranza è visto
se esso
sono vecchio e cieco
ancora tredici anni
là dalla finestra nella vecchia casa

 



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