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life poetry

ma mère m'a enseigné que chaque nuit
le ciel
quatre-vingts ans ont passé, et plus
je me demande parfois s'il est vraiment vrai
ma mère me tortille des roses humides avec la rosée
apportez-moi la chanson douce
splendide et terrible votre amour
je remplis cette tasse
puisque j'ai senti le sens de la mort
cette année
substance de la lune
avec les yeux doux et bruns

 



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