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fall poem

les longs couloirs de marbre resounding
l'air est plein de l'aube et du ressort
enveloppez la terre par temps nuageux
ne restez pas plus
comme égaliser tombe
dans ma main je me tiens
ma mère me tortille des roses humides avec la rosée
il y avait de trois dans le pré par le ruisseau
quand absence de sa taille de montagne
quand le voile des yeux est soulevé
short et doux, et nous sommes arrivés à la fin de lui
sous la lune de moisson

 



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