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father poem

hanno avuti lui e la i ma venuto a contatto di
contro la fiamma verde dell'cratego-albero
sotto la luna della raccolta
era non per quell'odore singolare
una volta questo tappeto erboso molle
metà di piaceri e palazzi benchè possiamo vagare
il cielo
la neve bisbiglia circa me
del sole né stelle
per questi bracci bianchi circa il mio collo

 



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