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christmas poem

une brume entraînait une réduction
là par la fenêtre dans la vieille maison
l'air est comme un papillon
le petit pitoyable, porté, visages de rire
et comment avez osé vous rêve de la réunion
les jours hypocrites
je suis vieux et aveugle
vers l'arrière, tournez vers l'arrière
souvent je pense à la belle ville

 



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