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poem for pastors

il raconte de bonnes vieilles périodes
quand les heures du jour sont numérotées
je les ai entendus la nuit
hauts murs et énorme
dans sa tente gardée
la étoile-poussière et lumière vaporeuse
le soleil a fait un pas vers le bas de son trĂ´ne d'or
je remplis cette tasse
je l'aime
de nos endroits cachés

 



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