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short poem

et comment avez osé vous rêve de la réunion
j'ai moulé le monde
le petit pitoyable, porté, visages de rire
sous ma fenêtre dans une rue de ville
une brume entraînait une réduction
pourquoi si triste mon bel?
sous un arbre de propagation de châtaigne
l'air est comme un papillon
environ porté plainte au maître
là par la fenêtre dans la vieille maison

 



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