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pastor appreciation poem

mon fils est mort et je suis aveugle allant
la nuit était noire et triste
le corps peut confiner
au-dessus des dessus de toit emballez les ombres des nuages
il y avait de trois dans le pré par le ruisseau
écoutez
behold je, en mon chiffon, gaze et tresse
là où je trouvez-vous
j'ai vu les archangels dans mon pomme-arbre la nuit passée
s'il

 



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