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son poem

nous cassons le verre dont le vin sacré
doucement maintenant la lumière du jour
dans toutes les choses non parlées de
la dame, votre coeur s'est tournée vers la poussière
je suis las d'être amer et las d'être sage
dans une vieille chambre s'est doucement allumé
bonne femme
et avec l'oiseau de ronflement
ce qui je vous doivent
du soleil ni des étoiles

 



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