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son poem

ce qui nous fera maintenant
la nuit est foncée, et les vents d'hiver
quand les heures du jour sont numérotées
dans toutes les choses non parlées de
ils ont jeté une pierre, vous ont jeté une pierre
il raconte de bonnes vieilles périodes
dépassement par les murs blottis et laids
comme lui à qui esprit dans la flamme du midi

 



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