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mother poem

la nerezza rotola verso l'alto
il pietoso piccolo, portato, facce ridere
l'aria è come una farfalla
alcuni dei hurts che avete curato
sto morendo
dice a di buoni vecchi periodi
ero un goddess ere il marmo lo ha trovato
oscillato nella culla del profondo
ha detto
la figlia, l'arte di thou viene morire
ho guardato sul cielo glorious

 



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