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acrostic poem

quand le vent fonctionne contre nous dans l'obscurité
vous êtes clair
dans le port de New York
ma mère me tortille des roses humides avec la rosée
si le tueur rouge pensent il massacre
quand les mer-vents ont percé nos solitudes
ne vous affligez pas qu'elle plus de
contre la flamme verte de l'aubépine-arbre

 



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