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daughter poem

mélancolie, bleu il était
dans les halls du sommeil vous avez erré près
je ne prie pas pour la paix
c'est la chanson de la jeunesse
quand, plein de l'amour chaud et désireux
sous un arbre de propagation de châtaigne
ce qui je vous doivent
un stylo d'acier
ma mère me tortille des roses humides avec la rosée
allé avant nous
elle a entendu les enfants jouer au soleil
je les ai entendus la nuit

 



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