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sympathy poem

bonheur
le mystère le plus foncé et le plus étrange
course haut-soutenue
beau
qui aime la pluie
j'ai vu qu'un dieu vous doutent de lui?
comment comme les étoiles sont ces le blanc, les visages inconnus
ne restez pas plus
sous ma fenĂŞtre dans une rue de ville
treize ans toujours
je ne brûle aucun encens
si le tueur rouge pensent il massacre

 



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