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nature poem

et pendant que nous marchions l'herbe a été faiblement remuée
gros mâles noirs dans une salle de vin-baril
en dessous de cette tombe modeste un conqueror se trouve
quand j'étais a enfoncé à Londres
la agonie d'avoir trop de puissance
j'ai vu les étoiles les plus fières
mon amour vrai de son oreiller a monté
parmi la fumée et le brouillard d'un après-midi de décembre

 



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