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type of poetry

l'obscurité roule vers le haut
hors de la fenĂŞtre une mer des arbres verts
une lueur d'or dans le gloom et le gris
je fais ma monture, mais personne ne sait
ville qui n'est pas une ville
pour ces bras blancs au sujet de mon cou
je remplis cette tasse
j'ai entendu le vent toute la journée

 



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