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thanksgiving poem

roses et or
comme égaliser tombe
substance de la lune
se déclenchant vers le haut, tombant vers le bas
hauts murs et énorme
tout mon amour pour mon bonbon
la fille, art de thou viennent pour mourir
très bien, vous libéraux
nous qui se sont tenus
je suis le vent qui hésite
ce compagnon étrange est venu sur brouiller des pieds
gros mâles noirs dans une salle de vin-baril

 



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