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retirement poem

souffleur de verre de temps
je suis vieux et aveugle
le pré rampait
quatre-vingts ans ont passé, et plus
effrayé pas plus, je dis
indéfiniment
du soleil ni des étoiles
pour venir tellement bientôt à ceci a imaginé l'obscurité
mélancolie, bleu il était
y a il quiconque là
quand les mer-vents ont percé nos solitudes
ne tournez pas votre tête
quand les heures du jour sont numérotées
les cieux qu'ils étaient ashen et sobre

 



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