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mom poem

un orage monte sur la marée
peut-être
leurs beaux cheveux
les montagnes ils sont les gens silencieux
a arqué l'inondation
dépassement par les murs blottis et laids
le corps peut confiner
enveloppez la terre par temps nuageux
tous en dedans et tous sans moi
il était un jeune oysterman grand
il y avait un strangeness sur vos lèvres
elle a entendu les enfants jouer au soleil

 



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