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family poem

polit le dernier âge, le prochain avec espoir est vu
la terre garde aller de vibration
bonheur
une ombre grise mince sur le bord de la pensée
treize ans toujours
fleur blanche de mousse, fleur rouge de flamme
quelque part j'ai lu un conte étrange, vieux, rouillé
maintenant pour un combat vif et gai
avec le rouge de sang de lèvres et le coeur de la pierre
est souvent il pas aussi?

 



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