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retirement poem

je ne prie pas pour la paix
ils ont jeté une pierre, vous ont jeté une pierre
je ne puis pas toujours sentir son greatness
quelque part j'ai lu un conte étrange, vieux, rouillé
je l'aime
quand le voile des yeux est soulevé
dans des vos bras était le plaisir immobile
les nuances de la nuit tombaient rapidement
je les ai offerts tout l'adieu
près d'un champ en détresse
mon fils est mort et je suis aveugle allant

 



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