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narrative poetry

par le pont grossier
chère épouse
je secoue mes cheveux dans le vent du matin
il aurait même sa plaisanterie
ces yeux noirs i une fois ainsi félicité
regarder là-bas
elle a dit
behold je, en mon chiffon, gaze et tresse
bonne femme
hors de la fenêtre une mer des arbres verts
pourquoi puis, la nécessité nous voient?
nous avons aucune honte?

 



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