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lyric poetry

non sia falso
come lui di chi spirito nella fiammata del mezzogiorno
il sole è in su
al lato di un campo raso
ho vinto la corsa
in settembre
ora che mi sono raffreddato a voi
bucks neri grassi in una stanza del vino-barilotto
non posso ritenere sempre il suo greatness
buona donna
gaily attraverso i campi abbiamo ballato
ho visto che il dio voi lo dubita?
se esso
glass-blower di tempo

 



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