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grandmother poem

je me tiens par temps gris froid
ne restez pas plus
mi plaisirs et palais bien que nous puissions errer
soyez dans moi comme modes éternels
sous ma fenĂŞtre dans une rue de ville
c'est la chanson de la jeunesse
o juste et stately bonne, dont les yeux
la noblesse de la mort encore

 



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