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sad poem

sous la lune de moisson
il y a une heure du repos paisible
le ciel
là où je trouvez-vous
si je meurs, pensez seulement ceci à moi
allés sont les trois, ces soeurs rares
un poèt, ayant pris le frein outre de sa langue
je ne puis pas toujours sentir son greatness
bien que je sois peu en tant que toutes les petites choses
ce compagnon étrange est venu sur brouiller des pieds
il y a bien longtemps, dans le jeune clair de lune
bonne femme

 



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