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lost love poem

la noblesse de la mort encore
serene d'après-midi et lumineux verts
descendu à l'aube des collines windless
observer toute la journée la vague bleue se courber et se casser
les petites prières blanches
la lumière retirée
pourquoi sont les choses qui n'ont aucune mort
tristes sont ils qui savent pas l'amour
la nuit passée la pleine lune a étendu un tissu de blanc

 



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