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good bye poem

sommeil, frère gris de la mort
mais alas, rêves justes
le soleil a fait un pas vers le bas de son trône d'or
son gris bascule toujours la tour au-dessus de la mer
les montagnes ils sont les gens silencieux
avant le saint en bronze solennel
dans la terre silencieuse
je suis allé à travers les rues
en septembre

 



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