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et avec l'oiseau de ronflement
vieux vin Ă  boire
les étoiles sont tombées du ciel
allé avant nous
environ porté plainte au maître
une ombre grise mince sur le bord de la pensée
roses et or
les voûtes du pont rouge
beaux, tragical visages
par de la large le sein faisant mal terre
ĂŞtes vous vivant?

 



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