Vast and blue spans the sky.
Across it, no cloud dares to go.
Alone, but ask not why;
Only little birds seem to know.
Their sour songs berate his fate,
Remake recluse into someone great.
And when storm clouds break their vow,
Listen not to thunder's bray,
But rather to murmur of the cow,
Who tells how sorrow stole the day.
Would that clouds part, let starlight through,
If only how again the sky knew.
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Sono un peccatore dell'anno ottantamila -- un menzonero
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