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poem for pastors

enveloppez la terre par temps nuageux
quand vous venez ce soir
cette cuvette argentée antique du mien
les montagnes ils sont les gens silencieux
au-dessus du fleuve ils montrent Ă  moi
seule
le pré rampait
je remplis cette tasse
vieux vin Ă  boire
travails de la terre
chère épouse
pourquoi

 



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