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christmas poems

nous avons aucune honte?
je meurs
quand les mer-vents ont percé nos solitudes
pour la vérité, pour l'amour
pourquoi sont les choses qui n'ont aucune mort
la nuit était noire et triste
souvent je pense Ă  la belle ville
je réside à la montagne de table
si je meurs, pensez seulement ceci Ă  moi
maintenant tandis que mes lèvres vivent
il raconte de bonnes vieilles périodes
j'aime mon heure de vent et de lumière

 



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