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angel poem

l'obscurité roule vers le haut
il y a une heure du repos paisible
pour puis en dehors
elle boite avec stopper le pas douloureux
ces yeux noirs i une fois ainsi félicité
près d'un champ en détresse
je suis allé à travers les rues
allé avant nous
dans une vieille chambre s'est doucement allumé
en matins nuage-gris
je vous ai détesté

 



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