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kid poem

allé avant nous
le soleil est vers le haut
pourquoi sont les choses qui n'ont aucune mort
pourquoi faites-vous toujours stand tremblant là
en matins nuage-gris
les montagnes ils sont les gens silencieux
se déclenchant vers le haut, tombant vers le bas
polit le dernier âge, le prochain avec espoir est vu
glooms des vivre-chênes
basculé dans le berceau du profond


 



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