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broken heart poem

mais je ne puis pas vous lire maintenant
vieux vin à boire
sous un arbre de propagation de châtaigne
par le pont grossier
par de la large le sein faisant mal terre
vous a fait entendent parler jamais
dans toutes les choses non parlées de
pensées par ma tête
une ombre grise mince sur le bord de la pensée


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