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grandmother poem

j'aime mon heure de vent et de lumičre
comme égaliser tombe
c'est le bateau de la perle
voici ne tomber aucune lumičre
dans le port de New York
comme lui ŕ qui esprit dans la flamme du midi
une petite pęche dans le verger s'est développée
si le tueur rouge pensent il massacre
volonté vous miroitez sur la mer?

 



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