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prose poetry

era l'autunno dell'anno
guardi indietro con gli occhi longing e sappia che seguirņ
malinconia, azzurro era
impaurito nient'altro, dico
perchč sono le cose che non hanno morte
amo rubare per un po'via
sono il vento che esita
una pesca piccola nel frutteto si č sviluppata
tutti si acquietano lungo il potomac
tramite il seno facente male della vasta terra
un gleam di oro il gloom in e gray

 



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