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sad love poem

il est allé
quatre-vingts ans ont passé, et plus
se reposer dans son culbuteur attendant votre thé
vous êtes beau et fané
course haut-soutenue
par de la large le sein faisant mal terre
je sais ce que vous allez dire
du soleil ni des étoiles
dites-moi
comme des aigles sur la haute haute
quand je vais de nouveau à la terre
puisque j'ai senti le sens de la mort
qui appellera le vent

 



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