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def poetry

en septembre
là par la fenêtre dans la vieille maison
tranquillement, avec le reverance, dans la crainte
vieux vin à boire
monde qui change sous ma main
ville qui n'est pas une ville
le mystère le plus foncé et le plus étrange
doux et fort
tout mon amour pour mon bonbon
la neige chuchote au sujet de moi
robuste, humble-abeille de somnoler

 



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