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sorry poem

la figlia, l'arte di thou viene morire
ha sentito i bambini giocare al sole
il pił triste dell'anno
contro la fiamma verde dell'cratego-albero
ho scagliato la mia anima all'aria come un volo del falco
facce belle e tragical
sono fevered
ci č uno che quella i amava una volta cosģ tanto
poco cancello č stato raggiunto in fine
tengo il vostro cuore
č ci qualcuno lą
dal ponticello rude

 



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