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mother poem

impaurito nient'altro, dico
sto morendo
che probabilità spiteful ruba i unawares
la pioggia finito e l'aria brillante
ed il mio nome è sincero
andato prima di noi
basso! 'tis un la notte di gala
tristemente parlando
veda, rinviano
pensieri tramite la mia testa

 



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