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sad death poem

pourquoi sont les choses qui n'ont aucune mort
les voûtes du pont rouge
soudainement, hors des manières foncées et feuillues
vieux vin à boire
vous entendez la pluie?
dans une vieille chambre s'est doucement allumé
j'ai vu les nuages parmi les collines

 



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