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narrative poetry

dernier minuit
y a il quiconque lĂ 
bien que je sois peu en tant que toutes les petites choses
contre la flamme verte de l'aubépine-arbre
mais alas, rĂŞves justes
soudainement, hors des manières foncées et feuillues
je ne brûle aucun encens
orage

 



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