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nature poem

il y avait un temps en anciennes années
une ombre grise mince sur le bord de la pensée
pourquoi sont les choses qui n'ont aucune mort
pourquoi faites-vous toujours stand tremblant là
laissez le bel unsaid de mots
dans sa tente gardée
soyez dans moi comme modes éternels
le merriment sans fin et idiot des étoiles

 



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