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urdu poetry

l'air est plein de l'aube et du ressort
la nuit passée la pleine lune a étendu un tissu de blanc
la agonie d'avoir trop de puissance
le vieil ouest, le vieux temps
l'obscurité vole les formes de toutes les reines
beau
tout mon amour pour mon bonbon
tristes sont ils qui savent pas l'amour

 



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