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je descends les chemins de jardin
le petit pitoyable, porté, visages de rire
l'aube était vert pomme
il y a bien longtemps, dans le jeune clair de lune
j'ai eu une crainte dans ma vie
je la pense splendide juste
vous faites ne pas entendre
elle connaît un dégagement bon marché
l'obscurité roule vers le haut
travails de la terre

 



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