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narrative poetry

un stylo d'acier
gros mâles noirs dans une salle de vin-baril
au-dessus d'elles toutes, regardant vers le bas
il y a trois manières dont les hommes prennent
elle était une beauté en jours
j'aime mon heure de vent et de lumière
c'était l'automne de l'année
ami, dont le sourire est venu pour être
près d'un champ en détresse
clair de lune profond et tendre
je vous chante

 



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