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poem for pastors

se reposer dans son culbuteur attendant votre thé
apportez-moi la chanson douce
fleurs des bébés
peu de parc que je traverse
l'air est plein de l'aube et du ressort
le jour est fait
complètement des larmes
avant le saint en bronze solennel
vous avez marche vue par le village
frère, je suis le feu
le soleil et vent et battement de mer

 



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