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pumpkin poem

l'obscurité
beaux, tragical visages
roses et or
ma douleur, quand elle est ici avec moi
je descends les chemins de jardin
simplicité
aucune proie ne suis moi des pensées faibles
je me demande parfois s'il est vraiment vrai
comme des aigles sur la haute haute
la étoile-poussière et lumière vaporeuse
babylon -- où je vais rêver
beau

 



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