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daughter poem

tristes sont ils qui savent pas l'amour
j'aime mon heure de vent et de lumière
à l'aube, il a dit
pourrions nous mais savoir
le pré rampait
contre la flamme verte de l'aubépine-arbre
dans la sphère
donc je ne puis pas
elle pourrait l'avoir su en ressort premier

 



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