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footprint poem

vous dites que vous m'aimez
je ne brûle aucun encens
y a il quiconque là
glooms des vivre-chênes
bonheur
je me tiens par temps gris froid
qui est le coureur dans les cieux
dans toutes les choses non parlées de
la lune se levante a caché les étoiles
nous nous étendons

 



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