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romantic love poem

dans sa tente gardée
souvent je pense à la belle ville
il n'y a aucune évasion par le fleuve
les cieux qu'ils étaient ashen et sobre
elle boite avec stopper le pas douloureux
ami, dont le sourire est venu pour être
seule
quatre-vingts ans ont passé, et plus
il y a un pays complètement de vin



 



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