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baby poem

un orage monte sur la marée
la lune se levante a caché les étoiles
je ne brûle aucun encens
à ce qui une femme la comparera aimée
mais je ne puis pas vous lire maintenant
vous êtes beau et fané
ceux-ci soient
de la chanson et du rêve pour jamais allé
je me suis tenu prêt le tissu pour rideaux ouvert
ami, dont le sourire est venu pour être

 



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