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fall poem

comme des aigles sur la haute haute
je ne prie pas pour la paix
la pluie plus de, et l'air brillant
l'air est comme un papillon
de nos endroits cachés
mon âme est un champ labouré foncé
pour pouvoir voir chaque côté de chaque question
la nuit passée la pleine lune a étendu un tissu de blanc
il aurait mĂŞme sa plaisanterie
en tant qu'elle

 



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