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funeral poem

vieux vin à boire
quand j'ai regardé dans vos yeux
une lueur d'or dans le gloom et le gris
à ce qui une femme la comparera aimée
avec le coucher du soleil
robuste, humble-abeille de somnoler
quand, plein de l'amour chaud et désireux
les jours hypocrites
l'air est comme un papillon

 



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