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poetry poem

dans le port de New York
quelque part j'ai lu un conte étrange, vieux, rouillé
ne soyez pas faux
par le pont grossier
comment comme les étoiles sont ces le blanc, les visages inconnus
il y a un pays complètement de vin
hauts murs et énorme
allés sont les trois, ces soeurs rares
les bateaux se situent dans le compartiment

 



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