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broken heart poem

je secoue mes cheveux dans le vent du matin
tandis que je tenais l'écoute, discrètement sourde-muette
environ porté plainte au maître
vous entendez la pluie?
le soleil a fait un pas vers le bas de son trĂ´ne d'or
la nuit est foncée, et les vents d'hiver
il est venu me prendre par la main
et mon nom est véridique
je suis vieux et aveugle

 



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