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christmas poems

travails de la terre
sous la feuille sombre de laurier
exprimons nos passions plus basses
l'air est comme un papillon
quelle chance spiteful vole des unawares
de nos endroits cachés
sous ma fenêtre dans une rue de ville
par de la large le sein faisant mal terre
hors du profond et de l'obscurité
y a il quiconque là

 



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