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sad death poem

la notte scorsa la luna piena ha posto un panno del bianco
che cosa noi ora farŕ
braided e tessuto
come un uomo nudo io va
li ha fatti mai sentono parlare
come lui di chi spirito nella fiammata del mezzogiorno
nel gather di nerezza e chiedono
nei numeri mournful
sopra il fiume, sulla collina

 



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