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baby poem

uno con voi
la figlia, l'arte di thou viene morire
faccio la mia protezione, ma nessuno sa
composto del loveliness da solo
la mia anima è un campo arato scuro
sono fevered
i drowses pallidi di giorno sull'occidentale bagnano
amavo una donna
non posso ora dirvi
conosco non dove
tempesta
perchè allora, il mosto noi vede?

 



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