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child poetry

la figlia, l'arte di thou viene morire
in qualche luogo ho letto un racconto sconosciuto, vecchio, arrugginito
alti pareti ed enorme
dalla finestra un mare degli alberi verdi
la musica i si č sentita con voi era piů della musica
un pensiero dolce solenne
in tutte le cose non parlate di
non appenda corona
persino avrebbe suo scherzo
nel porto di nuovo York

 



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