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daughter poem

du plancher au plafond
je ne puis pas vous dire maintenant
dans la sphère
la noblesse de la mort encore
short et doux, et nous sommes arrivés à la fin de lui
doucement maintenant la lumière du jour
quand un contrat est fait pour la liberté
le pré rampait
la neige chuchote au sujet de moi
travails de la terre
sommeil, frère gris de la mort
monde qui change sous ma main

 



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