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teen poem

nelle mattine nube-grige
quanto selvaggio, come strega-come bizzarro che la vita dovrebbe essere
se muoio, pensi soltanto questo me
basso! 'tis un la notte di gala
sono vecchio e cieco
ci è una città, builded da nessuna mano
mescolisi
se fossi molto sicuro
da me indegno e sconosciuto
uno per uno, come va da un albero
braided e tessuto
volontà glimmer sul mare?
dicami
un miglio dietro

 



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