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poem for pastors

un poèt, ayant pris le frein outre de sa langue
la noblesse de la mort encore
je suis allé à travers les rues
elle était une beauté en jours
l'enfant qui a jeté la feuille après feuille
ils peuvent parler de l'amour dans une petite maison
j'ai dit, j'ai fermé mon coeur
tristes sont ils qui savent pas l'amour

 



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