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i miss you poem

oiseaux contre le vent d'avril
écoutez
ma mère me tortille des roses humides avec la rosée
o juste et stately bonne, dont les yeux
elle a entendu les enfants jouer au soleil
le petit pitoyable, porté, visages de rire
améliorez que le granit
vécu à côté de la rive
je ne prie pas pour la paix
quand vous venez ce soir
ceux-ci soient

 



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