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sad death poem

amo non troppo bene la mia vita, ma
tristi sono che conoscono non l'amore
calma come che seconda estate
dicami piů di meno o dicami di piů
ancora tredici anni
la mia madre twines me rose bagnate con rugiada
tramite il seno facente male della vasta terra
vedo tutti gli spiriti umani
fiore bianco della gomma piuma, fiore rosso della fiamma
senza sosta
siete bei e sbiaditi
bucks neri grassi in una stanza del vino-barilotto

 



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