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sorry poem

sono il vento che esita
questi sono
potrebbe conoscerla nella molla più in anticipo
ho detto, io ho chiuso il mio cuore
nobility della morte ancora
dal ponticello rude
all'interno della mia mano tengo
basso! 'tis un la notte di gala
la signora, il vostro cuore si è girata verso polvere
siete bei e sbiaditi
dicami più di meno o dicami di più
persino avrebbe suo scherzo
volontà glimmer sul mare?
una pesca piccola nel frutteto si è sviluppata

 



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