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son poem

i giorni endeared ad ogni MUSE
le stelle sono caduto da cielo
li prevedo
è spesso non così?
fra il fumo e nebbia di un pomeriggio di dicembre
con di anima dei labbri colore rosso e cuore della pietra
sopra il fiume beckon a me
sto morendo
e così va
perchè facciali sempre basamento là che rabbrividisce
mi levo in piedi nel tempo grigio freddo

 



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