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romantic poetry

allé avant nous
mélancolie, bleu il était
tristes sont ils qui savent pas l'amour
ont eu lui et I mais réuni
qui appellera le vent
quand, plein de l'amour chaud et désireux
un, comme part d'un arbre
je fais ma monture, mais personne ne sait
sous ma fenĂŞtre dans une rue de ville
calme en tant que que deuxième été
une lueur d'or dans le gloom et le gris

 



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