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son poem

veda, da questa falsificazione di lui
da solo
perchè così triste mio bello?
la mia madre twines me rose bagnate con rugiada
del sole né stelle
quando ero si è rotto a Londra
la pioggia finito e l'aria brillante
ma alas, sogni giusti
ho visto la prima pera
noi che si sono levati in piedi
il rullo triste del tamburo desonorizzato ha battimento
ed ancora hanno camminato sopra

 



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