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thanksgiving poem

je me demande parfois s'il est vraiment vrai
fleur blanche de mousse, fleur rouge de flamme
roulez-moi vers le bas par le pré
je me tiens par temps gris froid
il n'y a aucune bande, toutefois observé et tendu
je n'ai jamais su que la terre a eu tellement l'or
orage

 



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