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teen poem

ho visto i archangels nel mio mela-albero la notte scorsa
la figlia, l'arte di thou viene morire
felicit
pensate, il mio ragazzo, quando metto i miei bracci intorno voi
bench sia piccolo come tutte le cose piccole
persino avrebbe suo scherzo
come lui di chi spirito nella fiammata del mezzogiorno
faccio la mia protezione, ma nessuno sa
senza sosta
sto morendo

 



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