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dark poetry

vieux vin Ă  boire
le roulement triste du tambour insonorisé a le battement
plantons
un orage monte sur la marée
puisque j'ai senti le sens de la mort
roses et or
comment comme les étoiles sont ces le blanc, les visages inconnus
il raconte de bonnes vieilles périodes
allé avant nous

 



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