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christmas poetry

in possa
ha sentito i bambini giocare al sole
risiedo alla montagna della tabella
non brucio incenso
il merriment infinito e insensato delle stelle
candele che si rovesciano obliquamente in latte del pomodoro
questa ciotola d'argento antica di mine
sotto la luna della raccolta
ci qualcuno l
mai in tutta la mia vita
poich ho ritenuto il senso della morte
quando vado di nuovo a terra

 



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