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grandmother poem

les jours endeared à chaque MUSE
se déclenchant vers le haut, tombant vers le bas
s'est levé et l'ambre était le coucher du soleil sur le fleuve
pour vêtir la pensée ardente
pourquoi sont les choses qui n'ont aucune mort
tous ces trésors qui se trouvent
je les ai entendus la nuit

 



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