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sad death poem

il parle pas bien
nous cassons le verre dont le vin sacré
la lune se levante a caché les étoiles
mon amour vrai de son oreiller a monté
quand un contrat est fait pour la liberté
c'est le bateau de la perle
les étoiles sont tombées du ciel
une ombre grise mince sur le bord de la pensée

 



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