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fall poetry

sommeil, frère gris de la mort
je me suis tenu prêt le tissu pour rideaux ouvert
dans une vieille chambre s'est doucement allumé
le ciel
puisque, si vous vous teniez prêt mon côté aujourd'hui
ces yeux noirs i une fois ainsi félicité
mélancolie, bleu il était
dans sa tente gardée
par le rivage, par la mer

 



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