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writing poetry

vers l'arrière, tournez vers l'arrière
frère, je suis le feu
il y avait un temps en anciennes années
je sais pas où
mon amour vrai de son oreiller a monté
et avec l'oiseau de ronflement
laissez-nous pitié ceux outre dont soyez meilleur que nous sont
les ombres des bateaux
quelques jours plus venteux
tous ces trésors qui se trouvent

 



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