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funeral poem

il est venu me prendre par la main
hors de moi indigne et inconnu
il y a d'un que ce I par le passé a aimé tellement
sous la feuille sombre de laurier
sommeil, frčre gris de la mort
dans la terre silencieuse
je me demande parfois s'il est vraiment vrai
les drowses pâles de jour sur l'occidental trempent
regardez dehors sur les étoiles, mon amour

 



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