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pumpkin poem

je me suis tenu
je suis le vent qui hésite
il y a des gains pour toutes nos pertes
le soleil est vers le haut
mais je ne puis pas vous lire maintenant
quand les mer-vents ont percé nos solitudes
une lueur d'or dans le gloom et le gris
mon âme disparaît plaquée dans des choses magnifiques
il est venu me prendre par la main

 



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