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birthday poem

il prato stava strisciando
perchč allora, il mosto noi vede?
li ho detestati
siete vivi?
tristi sono che conoscono non l'amore
behold me, in miei chiffon, garza e canutiglia
disprezzo i miei amici piů di voi
non rimanga nient'altro
cara moglie
travails della terra
splendido e terribile il vostro amore
la signora, il vostro cuore si č girata verso polvere

 



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