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memorial poem

la mia anima è un campo arato scuro
tristemente parlando
ho fatto una pausa la stoffa per tendine aperta
nobility della morte ancora
la mia madre lo ha insegnato che ogni notte
musing, fra il tramonto e l'oscurità
potrebbe conoscerla nella molla più in anticipo
ci è una città, builded da nessuna mano
noi che si sono levati in piedi
quando ero un ragazzo all'università

 



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