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poem for pastors

babylon -- oů je vais ręver
un, comme part d'un arbre
le long des banques
quelle chance spiteful vole des unawares
il y avait un temps en anciennes années
elle a éclaté le vin féroce
vieux vin ŕ boire
juste en tant que mes doigts sur ces clefs
les petites pričres blanches
de nos endroits cachés
pourquoi

 



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