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good bye poem

il mio figlio è guasto e sono ciechi andanti
l'aria è come una farfalla
morbido come la base nella terra
benchè sia piccolo come tutte le cose piccole
ma non posso ora leggerlo
alla mezzanotte
fra il fumo e nebbia di un pomeriggio di dicembre
quelli sul superiore dicono che li conoscono, terra -- sono liars
oscillato nella culla del profondo
morbidamente ora la luce del giorno
era una bellezza nei giorni
calma come che seconda estate

 



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