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funny poem

l'air est plein de l'aube et du ressort
étaient elle pas pour cette odeur singulière
aimez-moi enfin, ou si vous pas
au-dessus d'elles toutes, regardant vers le bas
mon fils est mort et je suis aveugle allant
il parle pas bien
dépassement par les murs blottis et laids
il était un jeune oysterman grand

 



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