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footprint poem

avec ses cheveux flaying d'une manière extravagante
peut-être ce n'est aucune matière que vous êtes morte
hors de moi indigne et inconnu
le maître des destins humains suis moi
quand la nuit dérive le long des rues de la ville
donc je ne puis pas
à l'amoureux passionné
le soleil est vers le haut
au-dessus du fleuve, sur la colline
pour vêtir la pensée ardente

 



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