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mother poem

una pesca piccola nel frutteto si sviluppata
di ci non era mai un suono al lato il legno ma uno
dialo
behold me, in miei chiffon, garza e canutiglia
le canzoni antiche
per questi bracci bianchi circa il mio collo
li ho sentiti nella notte
non eravamo molti
chi ama la pioggia
li ha fatti mai sentono parlare
addolorisi non per l'invisibile
moonlight profondo e tenero

 



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