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footprint poem

il rullo triste del tamburo desonorizzato ha battimento
non ci è fuga dal fiume
stuff della luna
fra il fumo e nebbia di un pomeriggio di dicembre
il prato stava strisciando
facce belle e tragical
travails della terra
con di anima dei labbri colore rosso e cuore della pietra
scattando in su, cadendo
mi domando dove vivete
lungamente fa, nel moonlight giovane
li ho sentiti nella notte

 



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