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death poem

veda, da questa falsificazione di lui
mille anni silenziosi fa
ho scagliato la mia anima all'aria come un volo del falco
poco parco che attraverso
li ha fatti mai vedono un coccodrillo
come lui di chi spirito nella fiammata del mezzogiorno
osservare di lŕ
dal ponticello rude

 



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