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birthday poetry

quand les mer-vents ont percé nos solitudes
dans sa tente gardée
sous la lune de moisson
elle était beaucoup et beaucoup d'il y a une année
avec la joie et la merveille
ne tournez pas votre tête
pourquoi sont les choses qui n'ont aucune mort
si le tueur rouge pensent il massacre
a arqué l'inondation

 



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