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je ne puis pas vous dire maintenant
et pendant que nous marchions l'herbe a été faiblement remuée
fleur blanche de mousse, fleur rouge de flamme
pensées par ma tête
remplacez la vision du plaisir
en septembre
le plus triste de l'année
vous entendez la pluie?
une ombre grise mince sur le bord de la pensée

 



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