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poem for pastors

elle était une beauté en jours
la nuit est foncée, et les vents d'hiver
si perdu
ma mère m'a enseigné que chaque nuit
je vais ma manière complacently
il était un jeune oysterman grand
je vous attends
j'ai vu la première poire
j'ai hérité le désert parce que mon âme est assoiffée
pour pouvoir voir chaque côté de chaque question

 



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