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sorry poem

sono il vento che esita
nel gather di nerezza e chiedono
dal ponticello rude
le vecchie canzoni
i giorni endeared ad ogni MUSE
ho scagliato la mia anima all'aria come un volo del falco
vecchio vino da bere
per guardare tutto il giorno l'onda blu arricciarsi e rompersi
una penna di acciaio

 



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