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sad poem

remuez
elle doit retourner, elle a dit
les longs couloirs de marbre resounding
comment comme les étoiles sont ces le blanc, les visages inconnus
basculé dans le berceau du profond
ils me demandent où j'ai été
truely
sans aucun doute je me rappelle toujours
robuste, humble-abeille de somnoler
en septembre
ma mère me tortille des roses humides avec la rosée
il est allé

 



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