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baby poem

et ils marchaient toujours dessus
ma mère me tortille des roses humides avec la rosée
exister de cygne
dans leurs regimentals loqueteux
elle a un espace libre, loveliness vent-abrité
enveloppez la terre par temps nuageux
ont eu lui et I mais réuni
seule
sommeil gentiment dans vos tombes humbles

 



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