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african american poetry

cette cuvette argentée antique du mien
sous la feuille sombre de laurier
tressé et tissé
écoutez la mer retentissante
sommeil, frère gris de la mort
vous a fait entendent parler jamais
il aurait mĂŞme sa plaisanterie
tout mon amour pour mon bonbon
souvent je pense Ă  la belle ville
dans les halls du sommeil vous avez erré près
pour la vérité, pour l'amour
dossier une nuit de vol
un avec vous

 



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