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pumpkin poem

la lumière retirée
du plancher au plafond
pensées par ma tête
roses et or
de la chanson et du rêve pour jamais allé
si je meurs, pensez seulement ceci à moi
cette cuvette argentée antique du mien
dans des nombres mournful
dites-moi
j'ai hérité le désert parce que mon âme est assoiffée
vous faites ne pas entendre
je suis le vent qui hésite

 



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