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son poem

aucune proie ne suis moi des pensées faibles
du plancher au plafond
je me tiens par temps gris froid
ma douleur, quand elle est ici avec moi
la lune se levante a caché les étoiles
pourquoi faites-vous toujours stand tremblant là
le vieil ouest, le vieux temps
enveloppez la terre par temps nuageux
comme lui à qui esprit dans la flamme du midi
calme en tant que que deuxième été
indéfiniment

 



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