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black poetry

le soleil est vers le haut
il y avait de trois dans le pré par le ruisseau
oiseaux contre le vent d'avril
tristement parlant
les petites prières blanches
vous entendez la pluie?
et ainsi elle va
mon âme est un champ labouré foncé
ami, dont le sourire est venu pour être
améliorez que le granit

 



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