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family poem

il est allé
avec le coucher du soleil
je ne puis pas toujours sentir son greatness
c'est l'arsenal
aucune proie ne suis moi des pensées faibles
passé persistant de thou
vécu à côté de la rive
quand j'étais a enfoncé à Londres
treize ans toujours
nous n'étions pas beaucoup
de nos endroits cachés
certains des maux que vous avez traités
gros mâles noirs dans une salle de vin-baril
ma mère me tortille des roses humides avec la rosée

 



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