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prose poetry

era l'autunno dell'anno
per questi bracci bianchi circa il mio collo
amo non troppo bene la mia vita, ma
movimento del vostro corpo č come musica
il piů triste dell'anno
sto cantando voi
per ero un consigliere gaunt e grave
non dal mondo largo di tutto
che cosa noi ora farŕ
un uccello ha cantato
in settembre

 



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