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poem for pastors

un stylo d'acier
lŕ oů je trouvez-vous
et ils marchaient toujours dessus
ces yeux noirs i une fois ainsi félicité
parmi la fumée et le brouillard d'un aprčs-midi de décembre
puisque j'ai senti le sens de la mort
splendide et terrible votre amour
améliorez que le granit
ils ont jeté une pierre, vous ont jeté une pierre

 



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