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graduation poem

le petit pitoyable, porté, visages de rire
quatre-vingts ans ont passé, et plus
laissez le bel unsaid de mots
je me tiens par temps gris froid
pour venir tellement bientôt à ceci a imaginé l'obscurité
juste en tant que mes doigts sur ces clefs
dernier minuit
la pluie plus de, et l'air brillant

 



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