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poem

quatre-vingts ans ont passé, et plus
quelle chance spiteful vole des unawares
nuit mystérieuse
mon âme est un champ labouré foncé
je dédaigne mes amis davantage que vous
tous apaisent le long du potomac
pourquoi puis, la nécessité nous voient?
dites-moi
ces coeurs ont été tissés des joies et des soins humains
leurs beaux cheveux

 



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