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sad poem

en tant qu'elle
dans des nombres mournful
il y avait un strangeness sur vos lèvres
par de la large le sein faisant mal terre
le poing serré simple soulevé et préparent
quand absence de sa taille de montagne
peut-être ce n'est aucune matière que vous êtes morte
je les ai entendus la nuit
à minuit
jusqu'à sa fenêtre de chambre
en matins nuage-gris
il y a trois ans d'aujourd'hui

 



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