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birthday poetry

simplement parlant
n'accrochez aucune guirlande
sous la lune de moisson
doucement pleurant
l'obscurité roule vers le haut
avec les yeux doux et bruns
quand le voile des yeux est soulevé
un, comme part d'un arbre
sommeil, frère gris de la mort
nos moments plaisants volent
peu de porte a été atteinte enfin
oiseaux contre le vent d'avril


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