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child poem

avec le rouge de sang de lèvres et le coeur de la pierre
bas! 'tis par nuit de gala
parmi la fumée et le brouillard d'un après-midi de décembre
qui appellera le vent
ombres à ailes balayant près
je la pense splendide juste
les petites prières blanches
il n'y avait jamais un bruit près du bois mais d'un

 



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