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poetry poem

je ne brűle aucun encens
c'est l'arsenal
il y a bien longtemps, dans le jeune clair de lune
sommeil gentiment dans vos tombes humbles
le plus triste de l'année
bruits qui tâchent de déchirer
behold je, en mon chiffon, gaze et tresse
j'ai eu un ręve et je me suis réveillé avec lui

 



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