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thanksgiving poetry

non sia falso
era non per quell'odore singolare
ho scagliato la mia anima all'aria come un volo del falco
fra le montagne ho vagato
mondo che cambia sotto la mia mano
sonno, fratello grigio della morte
la donna molto ha mancato, come denominate a me, chiamata a me
quel compagno sconosciuto è venuto sul mescolareare i piedi

 



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