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baby shower poem

les drowses pâles de jour sur l'occidental trempent
est souvent il pas aussi?
ils ont jeté une pierre, vous ont jeté une pierre
ne tournez pas votre tête
dans le port de New York
quand je suis retourné au coucher du soleil
je ne brûle aucun encens
la pluie plus de, et l'air brillant
avec les yeux doux et bruns
un orage monte sur la marée

 



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