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graduation poem

plantons
descendu ŕ l'aube des collines windless
si perdu
comment j'aidez vers la droite le monde qui tourne mal
seule
pourquoi sont les choses qui n'ont aucune mort
apportez-moi la chanson douce
ceux-ci soient
quand les heures du jour sont numérotées
ŕ l'aube, il a dit
behold je, en mon chiffon, gaze et tresse
souffleur de verre de temps

 



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