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grandmother poem

je meurs
ma mère me tortille des roses humides avec la rosée
le soleil est vers le haut
si le tueur rouge pensent il massacre
nos moments plaisants volent
plantons
pharaoh, roi de la terre de l'Egypte
fleur blanche de mousse, fleur rouge de flamme
composé seul du loveliness
contre la flamme verte de l'aubépine-arbre

 



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