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thanksgiving poem

il parle pas bien
parmi la fumée et le brouillard d'un après-midi de décembre
je ne brûle aucun encens
j'ai regardé sur le ciel glorieux
glooms des vivre-chênes
je ne prie pas pour la paix
un mille derrière
robuste, humble-abeille de somnoler
foncé-eyed

 



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