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retirement poem

mon âme est un champ labouré foncé
laissez-moi être triste
comment comme les étoiles sont ces le blanc, les visages inconnus
dites-moi moins ou dites-moi davantage
j'ai vu les nuages parmi les collines
il raconte de bonnes vieilles périodes
j'ai aimé une femme
nous qui se sont tenus
est souvent il pas aussi?
tranquillement, avec le reverance, dans la crainte
qui est le coureur dans les cieux


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