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son poem

rompiamo il vetro di cui vino sacred
morbidamente ora la luce del giorno
in tutte le cose non parlate di
la signora, il vostro cuore si è girata verso polvere
sono stancare di essere amaro e stancare di essere saggio
in un vecchio alloggiamento si è illuminato morbidamente
buona donna
e con l'uccello di ronzio
che cosa io devono voi
del sole né stelle

 



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