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brother poem

vous pensez, mon garçon, quand je mets mes bras autour de vous
laissez-moi être triste
la lumière retirée
il y a une ville, builded par aucune main
doucement pleurant
voici se trouver une dame la plus belle
ceux-ci soient
travails de la terre
avant le saint en bronze solennel

 



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