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retirement poem

i loro capelli bei
all'alba, ha detto
sentite la pioggia?
non giri la vostra testa
per questi bracci bianchi circa il mio collo
dice a di buoni vecchi periodi
l'aria è come una farfalla
faccio la mia protezione, ma nessuno sa
è aumentato e l'ambra era il tramonto sul fiume
facce belle e tragical

 



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