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death poem

le navi stanno trovandosi nella baia
nelle mattine nube-grige
era molte e molto un anno fa
fiori dei bambini
fra il fumo e nebbia di un pomeriggio di dicembre
perchè sono le cose che non hanno morte
ho detto
ora
un'ombra grigia sottile sul bordo di pensiero
come lui di chi spirito nella fiammata del mezzogiorno
splendor dolce
l'aria è come una farfalla

 



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