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baby poem

j'ai vu la première poire
peut-être
quand je suis retourné au coucher du soleil
êtes vous éveillé?
ma mère me tortille des roses humides avec la rosée
quelque part j'ai lu un conte étrange, vieux, rouillé
et pendant que nous marchions l'herbe a été faiblement remuée
j'ai jeté mon âme à l'air comme un vol de faucon
prenez mes bracelets

 



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