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teen poem

vous pensez, mon garçon, quand je mets mes bras autour de vous
sous un arbre de propagation de châtaigne
dites-moi moins ou dites-moi davantage
je ne puis pas vous dire maintenant
comment sauvage, comment sorcière-comme étrange qui la vie devrait être
et ils marchaient toujours dessus
ne restez pas plus

 



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