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christmas poems

nous cassons le verre dont le vin sacré
dans les halls du sommeil vous avez erré près
je suis vieux et aveugle
exister de cygne
il était un jeune oysterman grand
travails de la terre
une brume entraînait une réduction
ombres à ailes balayant près
y a il quiconque lĂ 
beau
les poèts le disent
effrayé pas plus, je dis

 



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