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thanksgiving poetry

nous n'étions pas beaucoup
la nuit était noire et triste
je ne brûle aucun encens
démontré dans la lueur vacillante dans vos yeux
j'ai vu la première poire
les nuances de la nuit tombaient rapidement
les jours mélancoliques sont venus
plantons
à ce qui une femme la comparera aimée
les chansons antiques
voyez l'expérimental
au-dessus d'elles toutes, regardant vers le bas

 



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