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le poing serré simple soulevé et préparent
son gris bascule toujours la tour au-dessus de la mer
sous la feuille sombre de laurier
environ porté plainte au maître
ce que je souhaite remarquer
dans la sphère
parmi les montagnes j'ai erré
je ne puis pas vous dire maintenant
vous faites entendre
qui appellera le vent
j'ai fait un voeu par le passé, un seulement
quelle chance spiteful vole des unawares

 



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