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sad poem

donc je ne puis pas
course haut-soutenue
y a il quiconque là
les poèts le disent
à certains les gros dieux
regardez dehors sur les étoiles, mon amour
mon fils est mort et je suis aveugle allant
glooms des vivre-chênes
pourquoi sont les choses qui n'ont aucune mort
les cieux qu'ils étaient ashen et sobre
nous n'étions pas beaucoup
bonne femme

 



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