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je ne puis pas toujours sentir son greatness
passé persistant de thou
mon fils est mort et je suis aveugle allant
du soleil ni des étoiles
elle était une beauté en jours
orage
mais je ne puis pas vous lire maintenant
son gris bascule toujours la tour au-dessus de la mer
dites-moi
le parfum est venu
pour la vérité, pour l'amour
les voûtes du pont rouge
le pré rampait
musing, entre le coucher du soleil et l'obscurité

 



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