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epic poetry

i cieli che erano ashen e sobrio
contro la fiamma verde dell'cratego-albero
poco cancello č stato raggiunto in fine
sonno, fratello grigio della morte
gli archi del ponticello rosso
semplicitŕ
l'odore del č aumentato cosě falso, le spine cosě allineare
non eravamo molti
con il tramonto
una tempesta sta guidando sulla marea
le navi stanno trovandosi nella baia
e con l'uccello di ronzio

 



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