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sad poem

sommeil, frère gris de la mort
je me suis tenu prêt le tissu pour rideaux ouvert
quand je suis retourné au coucher du soleil
j'aime les vieilles configurations melodious
dans la sphère
oiseaux contre le vent d'avril
la dame, votre coeur s'est tournée vers la poussière

 



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