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angel poem

la mia madre lo ha insegnato che ogni notte
forse è materia che avete morto
tre anni fa oggi
non ho saputo mai che la terra ha avuta così tanto oro
bello
andato prima di noi
il più triste dell'anno
come candela bianca
forse
ancora tredici anni
che cosa era esso i motori detti
cara moglie
dai prati ricchi con cereale

 



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