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sympathy poem

étaient elle pas pour cette odeur singulière
sommeil, frère gris de la mort
les ombres des bateaux
bonne femme
la foudre a clignoté, et s'est soulevée
la femme a beaucoup manqué, comment vous appelez à moi, appel à moi
elle doit retourner, elle a dit
quand la nuit dérive le long des rues de la ville
je verrai une étoile ce soir
il est venu me prendre par la main
pourquoi si triste mon bel?
hors de moi indigne et inconnu
calme en tant que que deuxième été

 



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