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acrostic poem

les chansons antiques
je me suis tenu
glooms des vivre-chênes
j'aime mon heure de vent et de lumière
dans le port de New York
une ombre grise mince sur le bord de la pensée
êtes vous éveillé?
donc je ne puis pas
pourquoi puis, la nécessité nous voient?

 



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