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christmas poetry

sceso all'alba dalle colline windless
i cieli che erano ashen e sobrio
non ho saputo mai che la terra ha avuta così tanto oro
un poet, prendente il freno fuori della sua linguetta
ci è un paese in pieno di vino
non sia falso
amico, di cui il sorriso è venuto essere
una foschia stava guidando giĂą
facce belle e tragical
prima del san bronze solenne
babylon -- dove vado sognare

 



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