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footprint poem

je me tiens par temps gris froid
bruits qui tâchent de déchirer
dites-moi moins ou dites-moi davantage
quatre-vingts ans ont passé, et plus
avec la joie et la merveille
le long des banques
maintenant que je me suis refroidi à vous
gaily par les champs nous avons dansé
dans la sphère
quand je vais de nouveau à la terre
peut-être
j'ai gagné la course

 



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