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teen poem

environ porté plainte au maître
le long d'une rive
je me suis tenu prêt le tissu pour rideaux ouvert
le pré rampait
je vois tous les esprits humains
ne tournez pas votre tête
voici ne tomber aucune lumière
vous faites ne pas entendre
il n'y avait jamais un bruit près du bois mais d'un
o juste et stately bonne, dont les yeux
vous faites entendre
avec le rouge de sang de lèvres et le coeur de la pierre

 



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