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sister poem

voici ne tomber aucune lumière
mon âme est un champ labouré foncé
un orage monte sur la marée
comme des aigles sur la haute haute
beau
bas! 'tis par nuit de gala
je vous chante
il raconte de bonnes vieilles périodes
dans leurs regimentals loqueteux
l'obscurité roule vers le haut
dans la sphère
ce qui je vous doivent
hors de moi indigne et inconnu
exister de cygne

 



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