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child poem

un poet, prendente il freno fuori della sua linguetta
tengo il vostro cuore
addolorisi non per l'invisibile
ci sono tre sensi in cui gli uomini prendono
il vecchio ovest, il vecchio tempo
il piů triste dell'anno
il bambino che ha gettato via il foglio dopo il foglio
non posso ora dirvi
quell'anno

 



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