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thanksgiving poem

à l'amoureux passionné
je secoue mes cheveux dans le vent du matin
je ne brûle aucun encens
sommeil, frère gris de la mort
éliminer, luttant vainly
mi plaisirs et palais bien que nous puissions errer
certains des maux que vous avez traités
sous la barre du guerrier
voyez l'expérimental
gaily par les champs nous avons dansé
tous ces trésors qui se trouvent

 



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