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grandma poem

en matins nuage-gris
qui appellera le vent
ce que je souhaite remarquer
tristes sont ils qui savent pas l'amour
l'obscurité vole les formes de toutes les reines
quand j'étais a enfoncé à Londres
la femme a beaucoup manqué, comment vous appelez à moi, appel à moi
exprimons nos passions plus basses
au-dessus du fleuve ils montrent Ă  moi
une lueur d'or dans le gloom et le gris

 



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