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retirement poem

il giorno è fatto
ho visto la prima pera
le preghiere bianche piccole
appena come mie barrette su queste chiavi
serene di pomeriggio e luminoso verdi
ma alas, sogni giusti
li ho sentiti nella notte
un cielo che non ha conosciuto mai il sole, la luna o le stelle
ottanta anni hanno passato e più
il cielo
che probabilità spiteful ruba i unawares

 



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