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short poem

les montagnes ils sont les gens silencieux
cette année
quelque part j'ai lu un conte étrange, vieux, rouillé
c'est l'arsenal
leurs beaux cheveux
regardez avec les yeux longing et savez que je suivrai
de nos endroits cachés
à ce qui une femme la comparera aimée
roses et or
ne soyez pas fâché avec moi
il aurait même sa plaisanterie
laissez-moi être triste
homme froid sévère

 



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