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type of poem

ottanta anni hanno passato e più
chi chiamerà il vento
una volta questo tappeto erboso molle
quale si conservare
deve andare indietro, ha detto
la sua faccia è giusta e liscia e fine
basso! 'tis un la notte di gala
per guardare tutto il giorno l'onda blu arricciarsi e rompersi
mille anni silenziosi fa
ed il mio nome è sincero

 



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