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modern poetry

pensate, il mio ragazzo, quando metto i miei bracci intorno voi
guardi indietro con gli occhi longing e sappia che seguirò
veda che mi dò voi
alcuni giorni più ventosi
il mio figlio è guasto e sono ciechi andanti
sotto la mia finestra in una via della città
lungamente fa, nel moonlight giovane
morbidamente piangendo
ho vinto la corsa
le canzoni antiche
nella sfera
amilo in fine, o se non

 



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