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friend poem

j'ai vu la première poire
je suis le vent qui hésite
un mille derrière
je suis vieux et aveugle
tous en dedans et tous sans moi
calme en tant que que deuxième été
ce compagnon étrange est venu sur brouiller des pieds
beau
le vieil ouest, le vieux temps
sous un arbre de propagation de châtaigne
je ne prie pas pour la paix
beaux, tragical visages
oiseaux contre le vent d'avril

 



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