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broken heart poem

perchč cosě triste mio bello?
metŕ di piaceri e palazzi benchč possiamo vagare
il prato stava strisciando
non ci č fuga dal fiume
se esso
ma non posso ora leggerlo
su e giů va
come le aquile sul high alto
nelle mattine nube-grige
fiore bianco della gomma piuma, fiore rosso della fiamma

 



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