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romantic love poem

del sole né stelle
nel porto di nuovo York
ciò è l'arsenale
quando ho rinviato al tramonto
ancora tredici anni
sedendosi nel suo attuatore che aspetta il vostro tè
la mia madre twines me rose bagnate con rugiada
dal profondo e l'oscurità
dai prati ricchi con cereale
sopra loro tutte, osservando giù
perchè allora, il mosto noi vede?
questa ciotola d'argento antica di mine

 



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