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teen poem

non giri la vostra testa
glooms delle viv-quercie
che probabilitŕ spiteful ruba i unawares
benchč sia piccolo come tutte le cose piccole
l'alba era verde mela
quando la notte va alla deriva lungo le vie della cittŕ
e mentre abbiamo camminato l'erba debolmente č stata mescolata
per ero un consigliere gaunt e grave
il corpo puň limitare
limps con la fermata del passo doloroso

 



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