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romantic poetry

l'air est plein de l'aube et du ressort
au-dessus du fleuve, sur la colline
je suis le vent qui hésite
en matins nuage-gris
pour venir tellement bientôt à ceci a imaginé l'obscurité
son visage est juste et lisse et bon
les jours mélancoliques sont venus
bien que je sois peu en tant que toutes les petites choses
tout mon amour pour mon bonbon
les voûtes du pont rouge

 



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