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friend poem

le maître des destins humains suis moi
à travers He va
et pendant que nous marchions l'herbe a été faiblement remuée
il n'y avait jamais un bruit près du bois mais d'un
ne restez pas plus
bruits qui tâchent de déchirer
près d'un champ en détresse
un poèt, ayant pris le frein outre de sa langue

 



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