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child poetry

peut-être ce n'est aucune matière que vous êtes morte
tristement parlant
une brume entraînait une réduction
voyez que je me donne vous
cette cuvette argentée antique du mien
j'ai vu les archangels dans mon pomme-arbre la nuit passée
mon âme disparaît plaquée dans des choses magnifiques
il y a trois ans d'aujourd'hui
j'ai regardé sur le ciel glorieux
c'est la chanson de la jeunesse


 



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