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epic poetry

ma mère me tortille des roses humides avec la rosée
elle était une beauté en jours
la pluie plus de, et l'air brillant
splendor doux
au-dessus des dessus de toit emballez les ombres des nuages
ami, dont le sourire est venu pour être
pour venir tellement bientôt à ceci a imaginé l'obscurité
qui est le coureur dans les cieux

 



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