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teen poem

mon âme est un champ labouré foncé
o juste et stately bonne, dont les yeux
j'ai vu la première poire
quelque part j'ai lu un conte étrange, vieux, rouillé
simplement parlant
de la chanson et du rêve pour jamais allé
il est vrai que vous disiez que les dieux sont plus d'utilisation à vous que des fées
je les ai entendus la nuit

 



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