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son poem

la festività reale è stata fatta
cammino giù i percorsi del giardino
la mia anima è un campo arato scuro
la luce ritirata
ho visto le nubi fra le colline
una pesca piccola nel frutteto si è sviluppata
ad alcuno i dii grassi
guardi indietro con gli occhi longing e sappia che seguirò
fate sentirsi

 



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