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grandmother poem

hors du profond et de l'obscurité
basculé dans le berceau du profond
j'ai dit
laissez-nous pitié ceux outre dont soyez meilleur que nous sont
en matins nuage-gris
ma mère me tortille des roses humides avec la rosée
truely
tous en baisse les années
pour puis en dehors

 



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