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autumn poem

l'enfant qui a jeté la feuille après feuille
le vieil ouest, le vieux temps
j'aime ma vie, mais pas trop bien
bien que je sois peu en tant que toutes les petites choses
monde qui change sous ma main
le mouvement de votre corps est comme la musique
mais alas, rêves justes
maintenant tandis que mes lèvres vivent
quatre-vingts ans ont passé, et plus
pourquoi faites-vous toujours stand tremblant là
voici ne tomber aucune lumière
il y a des gains pour toutes nos pertes

 



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