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autumn poem

short et doux, et nous sommes arrivés à la fin de lui
dans des vos bras était le plaisir immobile
mon fils est mort et je suis aveugle allant
vous avez marche vue par le village
elle doit retourner, elle a dit
treize ans toujours
quand les mer-vents ont percé nos solitudes
polit le dernier âge, le prochain avec espoir est vu

 



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