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father poem

il prato stava strisciando
ero un goddess ere il marmo lo ha trovato
nobility della morte ancora
ciò è l'arsenale
nel vostro volo
mistero più scuro e più sconosciuto
non brucio incenso
parla non bene
appena come mie barrette su queste chiavi
era non per quell'odore singolare
nella sfera
fra le montagne ho vagato
li ha fatti mai sentono parlare
fino alla sua finestra dell'alloggiamento

 



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