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- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - 2012-03-04 | [This text should be read in romana] |
Un corb ciugulea dintr-o stea,
Manjit pe gat statea de sange, Oile fosneau sub cerul plin,albastru. Lumina,luna.....alb....rece...... Isi lasa mainile pe obrajii mei. Aproape ......aproape era frig. Ce nu intelegeam era verdele ierbii... Un verde viu ce nu imi dadea pace.
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