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grandmother poem

pourquoi
j'ai hérité le désert parce que mon âme est assoiffée
parmi la fumée et le brouillard d'un après-midi de décembre
juste en tant que mes doigts sur ces clefs
son visage est juste et lisse et bon
je me demande parfois s'il est vraiment vrai
un ciel qui n'a jamais connu le soleil, la lune ou les étoiles
et pain de breaketh pas plus
nuit mystérieuse
c'est l'arsenal
affligez-vous pas pour l'invisible

 



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