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daughter poem

descendu à l'aube des collines windless
vous avez marche vue par le village
dépassement par les murs blottis et laids
dans votre vol
en matins nuage-gris
avec les yeux doux et bruns
soyez dans moi comme modes éternels
quelque part j'ai lu un conte étrange, vieux, rouillé

 



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