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teacher poem

monde qui change sous ma main
il y a une heure du repos paisible
mon âme est un champ labouré foncé
quand les mer-vents ont percé nos solitudes
observer toute la journée la vague bleue se courber et se casser
le corps peut confiner
qui aime la pluie
beaux, tragical visages
dans des nombres mournful

 



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