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christmas poetry

behold je, en mon chiffon, gaze et tresse
travails de la terre
je me tiens par temps gris froid
indéfiniment
parmi les montagnes j'ai erré
voici ne tomber aucune lumière
vous avez marche vue par le village
ont eu lui et I mais réuni
quand les mer-vents ont percé nos solitudes
je suis le vent qui hésite

 



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