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sister poem

ottanta anni hanno passato e piů
fiore bianco della gomma piuma, fiore rosso della fiamma
vedo tutti gli spiriti umani
ultima mezzanotte
chi chiamerŕ il vento
ha scoppiato il vino feroce
il cielo
la notte era nera e drear
quanto selvaggio, come strega-come bizzarro che la vita dovrebbe essere
sopra il fiume, sulla collina

 



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