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death poetry

tristes sont ils qui savent pas l'amour
elle était beaucoup et beaucoup d'il y a une année
roulez-moi vers le bas par le pré
serene d'après-midi et lumineux verts
la femme a beaucoup manqué, comment vous appelez à moi, appel à moi
environ porté plainte au maître
pour puis en dehors
je suis une femme

 



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