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black poetry

l'alba era verde mela
sono fevered
fra il fumo e nebbia di un pomeriggio di dicembre
morbido come la base nella terra
ci è un'ora di riposo pacifico
così caduto
mille anni silenziosi fa
vado il mio senso complacently
che cosa io devono voi
mai in tutta la mia vita
il singolo pugno serrato alzato e ready
ora che mi sono raffreddato a voi
è spesso non così?
la luce ritirata

 



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