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short poem

pensate, il mio ragazzo, quando metto i miei bracci intorno voi
una volta questo tappeto erboso molle
come le aquile sul high alto
behold me, in miei chiffon, garza e canutiglia
il mio dispiacere, quando è qui con me
rose ed oro
ad alcuno i dii grassi
non giri la vostra testa

 



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