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christian poetry

il pietoso piccolo, portato, facce ridere
perchè allora, il mosto noi vede?
sono vecchio e cieco
la nerezza rotola verso l'alto
ma non posso ora leggerlo
tengo il vostro cuore
fiore bianco della gomma piuma, fiore rosso della fiamma
fate sentirsi
molto bene, voi liberali
quando libertà dalla sua altezza della montagna

 



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