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death poetry

laissez-moi être triste
la nuit est foncée, et les vents d'hiver
vous êtes clair
parmi les montagnes j'ai erré
l'obscurité vole les formes de toutes les reines
qui appellera le vent
contre la flamme verte de l'aubépine-arbre
quand la nuit dérive le long des rues de la ville
le petit pitoyable, porté, visages de rire
parmi la fumée et le brouillard d'un après-midi de décembre
bien que repine d'amour, et frottement de raison
je meurs
j'aime voler pendant quelque temps loin
je sais pas où

 



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