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mother daughter poem

elle doit retourner, elle a dit
ma mère me tortille des roses humides avec la rosée
quatre-vingts ans ont passé, et plus
simplement parlant
lĂ  oĂą je trouvez-vous
je descends les chemins de jardin
c'était l'automne de l'année
enveloppez la terre par temps nuageux
jamais dans toute ma vie

 



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