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autumn poetry

le ciel
filles de temps
le soleil a fait un pas vers le bas de son trône d'or
il est venu me prendre par la main
behold je, en mon chiffon, gaze et tresse
le roulement triste du tambour insonorisé a le battement
à partir des prés riches avec du maïs
c'est la chanson de la jeunesse
se déclenchant vers le haut, tombant vers le bas

 



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