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child poetry

je me demande parfois s'il est vraiment vrai
une lueur d'or dans le gloom et le gris
doucement pleurant
le poing serré simple soulevé et préparent
et avec l'oiseau de ronflement
leurs beaux cheveux
ils me demandent où j'ai été
ces coeurs ont été tissés des joies et des soins humains
vous avez marche vue par le village
les petites prières blanches

 



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