Non andare oltre…
lascia che ascolti
il crepitio del legno,
volano in alto le faville,
si perdono…
ma l’occhio le raggiunge…
La brace
pian piano
si consuma…
emana
un bel tepore,
mi assopisco…
mi culla la tua voce,
struggente…
quando leggi le poesie…
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