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thanksgiving poem

dernier minuit
au-dessus d'elles toutes, regardant vers le bas
au-dessus du fleuve, sur la colline
vous avez marche vue par le village
ils ont jeté une pierre, vous ont jeté une pierre
dans le port de New York
fleur blanche de mousse, fleur rouge de flamme
élever, comme vent a soufflé
allé avant nous

 



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