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mother poem

quand le voile des yeux est soulevé
l'obscurité roule vers le haut
sous la barre du guerrier
dans des nombres mournful
sommeil, frère gris de la mort
aimez-moi enfin, ou si vous pas
il y a une heure du repos paisible
elle a dit
quatre-vingts ans ont passé, et plus

 



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