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thank you poem

peu de parc que je traverse
en septembre
sommeil, frère gris de la mort
les jours mélancoliques sont venus
je verrai une étoile ce soir
allé avant nous
treize ans toujours
sans aucun doute je me rappelle toujours
complètement des larmes
aucune proie ne suis moi des pensées faibles
la neige chuchote au sujet de moi
si le tueur rouge pensent il massacre
dans l'obscurité et la paix de mon lit final


 



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