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family poem

perchè allora, il mosto noi vede?
con il tramonto
agito i miei capelli nel vento della mattina
non posso ritenere sempre il suo greatness
un'ombra grigia sottile sul bordo di pensiero
che cosa era esso i motori detti
quando le ore del giorno sono numerate
sotto la luna della raccolta
al lover appassionato
osservare di là

 



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