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je sais ce que vous allez dire
ne soyez pas fâché avec moi
je secoue mes cheveux dans le vent du matin
en matins nuage-gris
voici se trouver une dame la plus belle
si je meurs, pensez seulement ceci à moi
la étoile-poussière et lumière vaporeuse
serene d'après-midi et lumineux verts
une ombre grise mince sur le bord de la pensée

 



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