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family poetry

se déclenchant vers le haut, tombant vers le bas
tous en dedans et tous sans moi
maintenant que je me suis refroidi à vous
pourquoi si triste mon bel?
levé des morts
il y a mille années silencieuses
et pendant que nous marchions l'herbe a été faiblement remuée
je suis le vent qui hésite

 



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