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autumn poem

environ porté plainte au maître
un orage monte sur la marée
effrayé pas plus, je dis
les petites prières blanches
vous êtes mon compagnon
bien que repine d'amour, et frottement de raison
qui est le coureur dans les cieux
écoutez la mer retentissante
l'odeur du s'est levée si faux, les épines si vraies
si le tueur rouge pensent il massacre

 



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