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father poem

se déclenchant vers le haut, tombant vers le bas
le petit pitoyable, porté, visages de rire
il y avait un temps en anciennes années
maintenant pour un combat vif et gai
je ne puis pas vous dire maintenant
j'aime mon heure de vent et de lumière
dans pouvez
j'ai vu les archangels dans mon pomme-arbre la nuit passée
vous faites entendre

 



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