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romantic love poems

mon amour vrai de son oreiller a monté
allés sont les trois, ces soeurs rares
l'aube était vert pomme
c'était l'automne de l'année
il n'y avait jamais un bruit près du bois mais d'un
je ne puis pas toujours sentir son greatness
pourquoi
je meurs
faites les garçons et les filles vont toujours
laissez-moi être triste
n'accrochez aucune guirlande

 



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