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sad poem

l'agonia di avere troppa alimentazione
nelle mattine nube-grige
dai prati ricchi con cereale
pensate, il mio ragazzo, quando metto i miei bracci intorno voi
nei loro regimentals ragged
la sua faccia è giusta e liscia e fine
ora mentre i miei labbri stanno vivendo
mi sono sentito che una principessa sicura
così perso
le montagne sono gente silenziosa

 



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