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modern poetry

l'aria è come una farfalla
passato inesorabile di thou
conosco che cosa state andando dire
la nerezza rotola verso l'alto
il pietoso piccolo, portato, facce ridere
quale si conservare
lasci il unsaid bello di parole
la signora, il vostro cuore si è girata verso polvere
sono il vento che esita
questa ciotola d'argento antica di mine
osservare di là
alla mezzanotte
mi sono levato in piedi

 



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