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halloween poetry

il raconte de bonnes vieilles périodes
fleurs des bébés
avec ses cheveux flaying d'une manière extravagante
c'était l'automne de l'année
serene d'après-midi et lumineux verts
les poèts le disent
qui appellera le vent
je ne puis pas vous dire maintenant
sous un arbre de propagation de châtaigne
les jours hypocrites
je vois tous les esprits humains

 



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