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sad love poem

bruits qui tâchent de déchirer
j'ai aimé une femme
elle était une beauté en jours
mais alas, rêves justes
pourquoi sont les choses qui n'ont aucune mort
sommeil gentiment dans vos tombes humbles
une brume entraînait une réduction
glooms des vivre-chênes
allé avant nous
il y a trois ans d'aujourd'hui
deux rangées des choux

 



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