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sad death poem

ma douleur, quand elle est ici avec moi
quelques jours plus venteux
hors du profond et de l'obscurité
le petit pitoyable, porté, visages de rire
o juste et stately bonne, dont les yeux
je vous ai détesté
une ombre grise mince sur le bord de la pensée
ils me demandent où j'ai été
la fille, art de thou viennent pour mourir
les vieilles chansons

 



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