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retirement poem

sono andati i tre, quelle sorelle rare
per veritŕ, per amore
che cosa era esso i motori detti
sono il vento che esita
pensieri tramite la mia testa
tutti quei tesori che si trovano
la figlia, l'arte di thou viene morire
una penna di acciaio
le vecchie canzoni
riempio questa tazza
tre giorni li ho sentiti addolorarsi quando mi situo completamente
quando un atto č fatto per la libertŕ
del sole né stelle
per coprire il pensiero ardente

 



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