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friendship poem

je secoue mes cheveux dans le vent du matin
pourquoi sont les choses qui n'ont aucune mort
les cieux qu'ils étaient ashen et sobre
polit le dernier âge, le prochain avec espoir est vu
je meurs
mais alas, rĂŞves justes
je ne brûle aucun encens
vous pensez, mon garçon, quand je mets mes bras autour de vous
parmi la fumée et le brouillard d'un après-midi de décembre
je sais ce que vous allez dire
les nuances de la nuit tombaient rapidement
ce qui était lui les moteurs dits

 



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