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poetry poem

et pendant que nous marchions l'herbe a été faiblement remuée
avec le coucher du soleil
je sais ce que vous allez dire
si j'étais très sûr
mon âme est un champ labouré foncé
vous entendez la pluie?
les cieux qu'ils étaient ashen et sobre
j'aime voler pendant quelque temps loin
gros mâles noirs dans une salle de vin-baril
oranges de plumaison nubian bleu-noires
y a il quiconque là
chère épouse

 



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