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(V) hopefulness



I'd have preferred it a furrow

left behind as a testament

printed into the dry sands

by the rough hands of a man

who was dreaming new days

but in people's stories

I only feel it as a whiff

fleeting impulsion of nothing

unknown mark on a face

for a future of words

left to the wind, neglected,

it was only an X – forgotten

Guido Comin PoetaMatusèl

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