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sopra i tetti corra le ombre delle nubi
l'alba era verde mela
sto cantando voi
sentite la pioggia?
ci erano tre nel prato dal ruscello
dai nostri posti nascosti
piantiamo
oscillato nella culla del profondo
per questi bracci bianchi circa il mio collo
sceso all'alba dalle colline windless
se fossi molto sicuro
questi sono
sono il vento che esita

 



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