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modern poetry

la sua faccia giusta e liscia e fine
il rullo triste del tamburo desonorizzato ha battimento
conosco non dove
ci un paese in pieno di vino
senza dubbio mi ricordo di ancora
dicami
quando ero si rotto a Londra
riempio questa tazza
dolce e forte
una volta questo tappeto erboso molle
la notte scura ed i venti di inverno
gaily attraverso i campi abbiamo ballato

 



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