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lost love poem

ancora tredici anni
faccialo rotare gi dal prato
prima del san bronze solenne
babylon -- dove vado sognare
era non per quell'odore singolare
mentre mi sono levato in piedi ascoltare, discreetly dumb
contro la fiamma verde dell'cratego-albero
behold me, in miei chiffon, garza e canutiglia
il mio dispiacere, quando qui con me
nelle mattine nube-grige

 



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