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haiku poetry

cette cuvette argentée antique du mien
quand je suis retourné au coucher du soleil
glooms des vivre-chênes
mélancolie, bleu il était
au-dessus d'elles toutes, regardant vers le bas
désolé et seul
la terre garde aller de vibration
les jours endeared à chaque MUSE

 



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