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christmas poem

ville qui n'est pas une ville
le petit pitoyable, porté, visages de rire
et pendant que nous marchions l'herbe a été faiblement remuée
je fais ma monture, mais personne ne sait
j'ai vu les étoiles les plus fières
un avec vous
babylon -- où je vais rêver
dans pouvez
une pensée gentiment solennelle
se déclenchant vers le haut, tombant vers le bas
ce qui conserve
si le tueur rouge pensent il massacre

 



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