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romantic poem

mon fils est mort et je suis aveugle allant
ce qui je vous doivent
behold je, en mon chiffon, gaze et tresse
un orage monte sur la marée
le bonbon avec la fougère et s'est levé
à partir du sud à la coupure du jour
quelque part j'ai lu un conte étrange, vieux, rouillé
j'ai vu qu'un dieu vous doutent de lui?
du soleil ni des étoiles
pourquoi puis, la nécessité nous voient?

 



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