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thanksgiving poem

l'odeur du s'est levée si faux, les épines si vraies
la fille, art de thou viennent pour mourir
l'obscurité roule vers le haut
ont eu lui et I mais réuni
voyez que je me donne vous
le parfum est venu
hors du profond et de l'obscurité
ainsi tombé
le merriment sans fin et idiot des étoiles
contre la flamme verte de l'aubépine-arbre

 



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