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child poetry

spesso non cos?
il pietoso piccolo, portato, facce ridere
le navi stanno trovandosi nella baia
ho sentito tutto il giorno il vento
ancora tredici anni
pensieri tramite la mia testa
e con l'uccello di ronzio
faccio la mia protezione, ma nessuno sa
dialo
un miglio dietro
quelli sul superiore dicono che li conoscono, terra -- sono liars

 



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