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sad poetry

tristes sont ils qui savent pas l'amour
je sais pas où
dites-moi moins ou dites-moi davantage
je suis las d'être amer et las d'être sage
ne tournez pas votre tête
il est venu me prendre par la main
sous la feuille sombre de laurier
dépassement par les murs blottis et laids
bien que repine d'amour, et frottement de raison
sommeil, frère gris de la mort
dites-moi
à ce qui une femme la comparera aimée

 



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