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teenage love poem

son gris bascule toujours la tour au-dessus de la mer
nous n'étions pas beaucoup
mon amour vrai de son oreiller a monté
sommeil, frčre gris de la mort
le plus triste de l'année
fleurs des bébés
par de la large le sein faisant mal terre
ont eu lui et I mais réuni

 



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