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sad poem

travails de la terre
sommeil, frère gris de la mort
si le tueur rouge pensent il massacre
ne vous affligez pas qu'elle plus de
filles de temps
êtes vous éveillé?
un mot de vol d'ici et là
la nuit passée la pleine lune a étendu un tissu de blanc
un poèt, ayant pris le frein outre de sa langue

 



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