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short poem

du plancher au plafond
tristes sont ils qui savent pas l'amour
substance de la lune
ne vous affligez pas qu'elle plus de
près d'un champ en détresse
foncé-eyed
il y a des gains pour toutes nos pertes
monde qui change sous ma main
la nuit passée la pleine lune a étendu un tissu de blanc
je dois dire bonne nuit

 



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