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writing poetry

quell'anno
in qualche luogo ho letto un racconto sconosciuto, vecchio, arrugginito
l'alba era verde mela
sopra i tetti corra le ombre delle nubi
dato che, se faceste una pausa oggi il mio lato
ci un'ora di riposo pacifico
amico, di cui il sorriso venuto essere
una foschia stava guidando gi
dal pavimento al soffitto

 



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