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christmas poem

il n'y avait jamais un bruit près du bois mais d'un
au-dessus du fleuve ils montrent Ă  moi
en matins nuage-gris
robuste, humble-abeille de somnoler
je me suis tenu prĂŞt le tissu pour rideaux ouvert
il raconte de bonnes vieilles périodes
la agonie d'avoir trop de puissance
le soleil a fait un pas vers le bas de son trĂ´ne d'or
donnez-moi
la femme a beaucoup manqué, comment vous appelez à moi, appel à moi

 



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