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sad poetry

elle doit retourner, elle a dit
je meurs
ce qui je vous doivent
le long des banques
par le pont grossier
il y a trois ans d'aujourd'hui
quelle chance spiteful vole des unawares
pourquoi faites-vous toujours stand tremblant là
je suis une femme
elle pourrait l'avoir su en ressort premier
affligez-vous pas pour l'invisible
à partir des prés riches avec du maïs
splendor doux

 



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