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romantic poetry

elle a entendu les enfants jouer au soleil
la foudre a clignoté, et s'est soulevée
son visage est juste et lisse et bon
allés sont les trois, ces soeurs rares
je secoue mes cheveux dans le vent du matin
parmi les montagnes j'ai erré
la pluie plus de, et l'air brillant
la dame, votre coeur s'est tournée vers la poussière
il est allé
beaux, tragical visages

 



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