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sad poem

e pane del breaketh non di più
debole-è traversata la canzone
ha una radura, loveliness vento-riparato
impaurito nient'altro, dico
all'alba, ha detto
le vecchie canzoni
sono fevered
questa ciotola d'argento antica di mine
ma non posso ora leggerlo
le ombre pongono lungo broadway
non brucio incenso
sotto il timone del guerriero

 



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