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romantic love poem

le plus triste de l'année
son gris bascule toujours la tour au-dessus de la mer
c'est l'arsenal
bas! 'tis par nuit de gala
parmi la fumée et le brouillard d'un après-midi de décembre
j'ai vu avec les yeux ouverts
le poing serré simple soulevé et préparent
soyez dans moi comme modes éternels
peu de porte a été atteinte enfin

 



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