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poetry poem

les drowses pâles de jour sur l'occidental trempent
comme un homme nu je vont
comment sauvage, comment sorcičre-comme étrange qui la vie devrait ętre
substance de la lune
je me tiens par temps gris froid
je descends les chemins de jardin
sous un arbre de propagation de châtaigne
ce qui conserve

 



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