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poem for pastors

quand j'étais a enfoncé à Londres
comme un homme nu je vont
dans la terre silencieuse
voici ne tomber aucune lumière
les poèts le disent
peut-être
souvent je pense à la belle ville
les ombres des bateaux
plantons
s'est levé et l'ambre était le coucher du soleil sur le fleuve
les drowses pâles de jour sur l'occidental trempent

 



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