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thanksgiving poem

pourrions nous mais savoir
quand la nuit dérive le long des rues de la ville
vécu à côté de la rive
vous êtes beau et fané
j'ai jeté mon âme à l'air comme un vol de faucon
mon âme est un champ labouré foncé
comme un homme nu je vont
aucune proie ne suis moi des pensées faibles
par le pont grossier
j'ai eu un rêve et je me suis réveillé avec lui
la noblesse de la mort encore
orage

 



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