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mother daughter poem

non sia falso
chi è il corridore nei cieli
cara moglie
chi chiamerà il vento
dai prati ricchi con cereale
musing, fra il tramonto e l'oscurità
i loro capelli bei
benchè sia piccolo come tutte le cose piccole
ci è una città, builded da nessuna mano
città che non è una città
il mio figlio è guasto e sono ciechi andanti
indietro, giri indietro

 



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