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mom poem

je fais ma monture, mais personne ne sait
son visage est juste et lisse et bon
par le pont grossier
les bateaux se situent dans le compartiment
la nuit était noire et triste
quelle chance spiteful vole des unawares
ne restez pas plus
le roulement triste du tambour insonorisé a le battement

 



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