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death poetry

je remplis cette tasse
en matins nuage-gris
j'aime voler pendant quelque temps loin
je descends les chemins de jardin
quand je suis retourné au coucher du soleil
quelques jours plus venteux
mon amour vrai de son oreiller a monté
j'ai entendu qu'une certaine princesse
je me demande parfois s'il est vraiment vrai
roulez-moi vers le bas par le pré

 



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