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sad death poem

mais alas, rêves justes
bonne femme
par le rivage, par la mer
dans le port de New York
dans l'obscurité et la paix de mon lit final
il n'y avait jamais un bruit près du bois mais d'un
c'était l'automne de l'année
mon âme est un champ labouré foncé

 



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