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epic poetry

quell'anno
malinconia, azzurro era
amilo in fine, o se non
non si addolori che finito
scattando in su, cadendo
e mentre abbiamo camminato l'erba debolmente è stata mescolata
dal ponticello rude
per guardare tutto il giorno l'onda blu arricciarsi e rompersi
ma non posso ora leggerlo

 



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