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cette cuvette argentée antique du mien
le vieil ouest, le vieux temps
les drowses pâles de jour sur l'occidental trempent
dernier minuit
indéfiniment
en dessous de cette tombe modeste un conqueror se trouve
j'ai vu que vous hunched et tremblant sur les pierres
mais je ne puis pas vous lire maintenant
quelle chance spiteful vole des unawares

 



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