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love poetry

la fille, art de thou viennent pour mourir
je l'ai vu une fois avant
mon fils est mort et je suis aveugle allant
stand ici par mon côté
hors de moi indigne et inconnu
y a il quiconque là
l'air est comme un papillon
elle boite avec stopper le pas douloureux
dans les halls du sommeil vous avez erré près
je meurs
j'ai vu les nuages parmi les collines
vieux vin à boire

 



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