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african american poetry

roulez-moi vers le bas par le pré
nous cassons le verre dont le vin sacré
ami, dont le sourire est venu pour être
la foudre a clignoté, et s'est soulevée
la noblesse de la mort encore
du soleil ni des étoiles
je vous ai détesté
j'ai entendu le vent toute la journée
il y a une heure du repos paisible
levé des morts
et comment avez osé vous rêve de la réunion

 



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