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father poem

ha sentito i bambini giocare al sole
indietro, giri indietro
non eravamo molti
chi ama la pioggia
dolce e forte
qui cade nessuna luce
rose ed oro
nobility della morte ancora
quelli sul superiore dicono che li conoscono, terra -- sono liars
penso spesso alla cittĂ  bella
uno per uno, come va da un albero

 



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