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acrostic poem

tressé et tissé
je suis une femme
roulez-moi vers le bas par le pré
le vieil ouest, le vieux temps
quand absence de sa taille de montagne
le soleil est vers le haut
orage
les drowses pâles de jour sur l'occidental trempent
je me demande où vous vivez
faible-envolée est la chanson
il est venu me prendre par la main
dans votre vol

 



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