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sister poem

l'air est plein de l'aube et du ressort
le soleil a fait un pas vers le bas de son trône d'or
je suis las d'être amer et las d'être sage
peut-être ce n'est aucune matière que vous êtes morte
une ombre grise mince sur le bord de la pensée
ville qui n'est pas une ville
dans la terre silencieuse
en tant qu'elle
ombres étendues le long de broadway
prenez mes bracelets

 



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