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teen poem

pensate, il mio ragazzo, quando metto i miei bracci intorno voi
uccelli contro il vento di aprile
al lover appassionato
tranquillamente, con il reverance, nel awe
alcuni giorni più ventosi
noi che si sono levati in piedi
perchè allora, il mosto noi vede?
un pensiero dolce solenne
calma come che seconda estate

 



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