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fall poetry

du soleil ni des étoiles
la noblesse de la mort encore
un stylo d'acier
juste en tant que mes doigts sur ces clefs
tristement parlant
j'ai eu une crainte dans ma vie
et pendant que nous marchions l'herbe a été faiblement remuée
parmi la fumée et le brouillard d'un après-midi de décembre
il y a une ville, builded par aucune main
le mystère le plus foncé et le plus étrange

 



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