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grandma poem

il sole è in su
sonno dolce nelle vostre tombe humble
e mentre abbiamo camminato l'erba debolmente è stata mescolata
ha scoppiato il vino feroce
la mia madre twines me rose bagnate con rugiada
da me indegno e sconosciuto
uno per uno, come va da un albero
il più triste dell'anno
tramite il seno facente male della vasta terra
quando un atto è fatto per la libertà
l'alba era verde mela

 



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