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teen love poem

elle doit retourner, elle a dit
le pré rampait
quelque part j'ai lu un conte étrange, vieux, rouillé
vieux vin ŕ boire
nos moments plaisants volent
sous ma fenętre dans une rue de ville
n'accrochez aucune guirlande
vous faites entendre
descendu ŕ l'aube des collines windless
mon âme est un champ labouré foncé

 



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