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mother daughter poem

elle a éclaté le vin féroce
il n'y a aucune bande, toutefois observé et tendu
il n'y avait jamais un bruit près du bois mais d'un
le long des banques
nous cassons le verre dont le vin sacré
mon âme est un champ labouré foncé
calme en tant que que deuxième été
se reposer dans son culbuteur attendant votre thé

 



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