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nature poem

ville qui n'est pas une ville
vécu à côté de la rive
se déclenchant vers le haut, tombant vers le bas
dans sa tente gardée
je vois tous les esprits humains
ami, dont le sourire est venu pour être
cette année
ceux-ci soient
sommeil, frère gris de la mort
peut-être
ces yeux noirs i une fois ainsi félicité

 



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