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christmas poetry

piantiamo
la luce ritirata
non brucio incenso
chi ama la pioggia
sotto la mia finestra in una via della cittĂ 
come io aiuti alla destra il mondo che sta andando male
quando le ore del giorno sono numerate
il sole è in su
la figlia, l'arte di thou viene morire
al lover appassionato
desolato e solo
città che non è una città


 



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