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grandma poem

et ils marchaient toujours dessus
je l'ai vu une fois avant
à ce qui une femme la comparera aimée
parmi la fumée et le brouillard d'un après-midi de décembre
et comment avez osé vous rêve de la réunion
vous entendez la pluie?
souvent je pense à la belle ville
un ciel qui n'a jamais connu le soleil, la lune ou les étoiles
doucement pleurant
beau
il n'y avait jamais un bruit près du bois mais d'un

 



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