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modern poetry

ora
rumori che si sforzano strapparsi
fra le montagne ho vagato
un poet, prendente il freno fuori della sua linguetta
di ci non era mai un suono al lato il legno ma uno
amo la mia ora di vento e di luce
come io aiuti alla destra il mondo che sta andando male
guardi indietro con gli occhi longing e sappia che seguirò

 



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