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lyric poetry

seule
ma mère me tortille des roses humides avec la rosée
dites-moi
je vous chante
la pluie plus de, et l'air brillant
je ne puis pas vous dire maintenant
voyez, de cette contrefaçon de lui
vous a fait entendent parler jamais
chère épouse
elle était une beauté en jours
elle a un espace libre, loveliness vent-abrité
la femme a beaucoup manqué, comment vous appelez à moi, appel à moi

 



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