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baby poem

behold je, en mon chiffon, gaze et tresse
un ciel qui n'a jamais connu le soleil, la lune ou les étoiles
avec ses cheveux flaying d'une manière extravagante
substance de la lune
aucune proie ne suis moi des pensées faibles
filles de temps
les nuances de la nuit tombaient rapidement
deux rangées des choux
le vieil ouest, le vieux temps
avant le saint en bronze solennel
short et doux, et nous sommes arrivés à la fin de lui
regarder là-bas
voyez, de cette contrefaçon de lui
près d'un champ en détresse

 



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