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wedding poetry

non posso ora dirvi
il vecchio ovest, il vecchio tempo
la luce ritirata
quando i mare-venti hanno perforato i nostri solitudes
perch allora, il mosto noi vede?
per potere vedere ogni lato di ogni domanda
il pietoso piccolo, portato, facce ridere
siete bei e sbiaditi
vecchio vino da bere
quando ho esaminato i vostri occhi
i corridoi di marmo resounding lunghi

 



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