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poem for pastors

il est allé
je me tiens par temps gris froid
à partir du sud à la coupure du jour
vous êtes mon compagnon
un avec vous
une brume entraînait une réduction
bien que je sois peu en tant que toutes les petites choses
glooms des vivre-chênes
dites-moi moins ou dites-moi davantage
truely
pour ces bras blancs au sujet de mon cou
pourquoi

 



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