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sad love poem

le ciel
mais alas, rêves justes
de nos endroits cachés
puisque j'ai senti le sens de la mort
je ne puis pas vous dire maintenant
et mon nom est véridique
les vérités terribles ceux-ci soient
je ne puis pas toujours sentir son greatness
qui aime la pluie
et pain de breaketh pas plus
cette cuvette argentée antique du mien
avec les yeux doux et bruns
très bien, vous libéraux

 



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