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autumn poetry

se muoio, pensi soltanto questo me
ha detto
fra il fumo e nebbia di un pomeriggio di dicembre
ho fatto una volta soltanto un voto, uno
in corridoi di sonno avete vagato vicino
sono andati i tre, quelle sorelle rare
una volta questo tappeto erboso molle
la figlia, l'arte di thou viene morire
le montagne sono gente silenziosa
la mia madre lo ha insegnato che ogni notte

 



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