Alda, tu che colori
di versi il vento,
tu che accarezzi
la mia fantasia,
amo la tua “folle”
rassicurante poesia;
mi sento bimbo
la bramo infinita,
per tutto o nulla
per chicchessia;
or mi delizia,
è utopia?
No, la porto
nel cuore, è mia.
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