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poem

le montagne sono gente silenziosa
aumentato dai morti
quando venite stasera
indietro, giri indietro
e come potreste sogno della riunione
una foschia stava guidando giù
quando le ore del giorno sono numerate
sedendosi nel suo attuatore che aspetta il vostro tè
la neve bisbiglia circa me
la figlia, l'arte di thou viene morire
rompiamo il vetro di cui vino sacred
la pioggia finito e l'aria brillante
ho visto le nubi fra le colline

 



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