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baby poem

come le aquile sul high alto
fra le montagne ho vagato
rinnovi la visione di piacere
avete camminare visto attraverso il villaggio
molto bene, voi liberali
la nerezza ruba le forme di tutte le regine
non si addolori che finito
ho visto i archangels nel mio mela-albero la notte scorsa
il piů triste dell'anno

 



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