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family poem

en tant qu'elle
quelque part j'ai lu un conte étrange, vieux, rouillé
qui est le coureur dans les cieux
doux comme lit dans la terre
j'ai regardé sur le ciel glorieux
robuste, humble-abeille de somnoler
pourquoi faites-vous toujours stand tremblant là
et ainsi elle va
behold je, en mon chiffon, gaze et tresse
beau
vous êtes beau et fané

 



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