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sad poetry

quando ero si è rotto a Londra
sono vecchio e cieco
dal pavimento al soffitto
ottanta anni hanno passato e più
behold me, in miei chiffon, garza e canutiglia
un pensiero dolce solenne
in settembre
mi levo in piedi nel tempo grigio freddo
le stelle sono caduto da cielo
non rimanga nient'altro
potremmo ma sapere
gli archi del ponticello rosso
travails della terra
morbidamente piangendo

 



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