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short poem

perchè allora, il mosto noi vede?
forse è materia che avete morto
scuro-eyed
le tonalità della notte stavano cadendo velocemente
la neve bisbiglia circa me
amilo in fine, o se non
un uccello ha cantato
moonlight profondo e tenero
mi chiedono dove sono stato
non si addolori che finito
nel gather di nerezza e chiedono
la mia madre twines me rose bagnate con rugiada

 



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