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grandma poem

perchè sono le cose che non hanno morte
se muoio, pensi soltanto questo me
babylon -- dove vado sognare
prenda i miei bracelets
sole e vento e battimento del mare
sonno dolce nelle vostre tombe humble
mescolisi
ci sono guadagni per tutte le nostre perdite
sotto un albero di diffusione della castagna
gloom
faccialo rotare giù dal prato
quando ero si è rotto a Londra
i giorni endeared ad ogni MUSE
eliminazione, lottante vainly

 



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