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grandmother poem

prenez mes bracelets
dans le port de New York
au-dessus du fleuve ils montrent à moi
le soleil est vers le haut
parmi la fumée et le brouillard d'un après-midi de décembre
mon amour vrai de son oreiller a monté
les petites prières blanches
la neige chuchote au sujet de moi
la musique i entendu avec vous était plus que la musique
vous avez marche vue par le village

 



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