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christmas poems

la nuit était noire et triste
qui est le coureur dans les cieux
je suis le vent qui hésite
les longs couloirs de marbre resounding
il n'y a aucune bande, toutefois observé et tendu
je remplis cette tasse
tressé et tissé
l'air est comme un papillon
sous ma fenêtre dans une rue de ville
quand j'étais a enfoncé à Londres
beaux, tragical visages

 



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