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daughter poem

sommeil, frère gris de la mort
plantons
puisque j'ai senti le sens de la mort
un poèt, ayant pris le frein outre de sa langue
le mystère le plus foncé et le plus étrange
mais alas, rêves justes
au-dessus du fleuve, sur la colline
il n'y a aucune bande, toutefois observé et tendu
elle boite avec stopper le pas douloureux
si je meurs, pensez seulement ceci à moi

 



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