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best love poem

et pendant que nous marchions l'herbe a été faiblement remuée
à certains les gros dieux
fleur blanche de mousse, fleur rouge de flamme
je la pense splendide juste
les vérités terribles ceux-ci soient
quand absence de sa taille de montagne
parmi la fumée et le brouillard d'un après-midi de décembre
il raconte de bonnes vieilles périodes

 



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