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writing poetry

je ne brûle aucun encens
elle a éclaté le vin féroce
le pré rampait
la foudre a clignoté, et s'est soulevée
j'ai entendu le vent toute la journée
chantez-encore à la chanson vous chanté
comme lui à qui esprit dans la flamme du midi
j'ai hérité le désert parce que mon âme est assoiffée
voyez, ils retournent
j'ai vu la première poire

 



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