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urdu poetry

ancora il suo gray oscilla la torretta sopra il mare
amo non troppo bene la mia vita, ma
una penna di acciaio
ci un'ora di riposo pacifico
ora
li ha fatti mai sentono parlare
il mio figlio guasto e sono ciechi andanti
tristemente parlando
ci sono guadagni per tutte le nostre perdite
la gradisco

 



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