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death poetry

li ha fatti mai sentono parlare
ha detto
passato inesorabile di thou
basso! 'tis un la notte di gala
lungamente fa la luce solare di estate lucidare
come come le stelle è questo il bianco, facce nameless
della l'oscurità e pace nel mia base finale
la luna aumentante ha nascosto le stelle
chi chiamerà il vento

 



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