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poem

donnez-moi
beaux, tragical visages
l'aube était vert pomme
substance de la lune
je meurs
laissez-moi ĂŞtre triste
leurs beaux cheveux
souvent je pense Ă  la belle ville
il y a mille années silencieuses
pourrions nous mais savoir
mais alas, rĂŞves justes

 



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