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writing poetry

souvent je pense à la belle ville
nous avons aucune honte?
comme un homme nu je vont
un poèt, ayant pris le frein outre de sa langue
bien que repine d'amour, et frottement de raison
oiseaux contre le vent d'avril
le petit pitoyable, porté, visages de rire
à l'amoureux passionné

 



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