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brother poem

le soleil est vers le haut
behold je, en mon chiffon, gaze et tresse
ma douleur, quand elle est ici avec moi
il est vrai que vous disiez que les dieux sont plus d'utilisation vous que des fes
je vous attends
peu de parc que je traverse
roulez-moi vers le bas par le pr
n'accrochez aucune guirlande

 



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