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family poem

son gris bascule toujours la tour au-dessus de la mer
il aurait même sa plaisanterie
souffleur de verre de temps
ne tournez pas votre tête
sous un arbre de propagation de châtaigne
doucement maintenant la lumière du jour
vous faites entendre
écoutez la mer retentissante
pour pouvoir voir chaque côté de chaque question
j'ai regardé sur le ciel glorieux
dans le port de New York
les étoiles sont tombées du ciel

 



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