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death poetry

quanto selvaggio, come strega-come bizzarro che la vita dovrebbe essere
in qualche luogo ho letto un racconto sconosciuto, vecchio, arrugginito
malinconia, azzurro era
ci č un paese in pieno di vino
al lover appassionato
i cieli che erano ashen e sobrio
quell'anno
una foschia stava guidando giů
alti pareti ed enorme

 



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