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family poem

ils dans le rassemblement d'obscurité et demandent
l'odeur du s'est levée si faux, les épines si vraies
elle doit retourner, elle a dit
ma mère me tortille des roses humides avec la rosée
je les ai entendus la nuit
mon fils est mort et je suis aveugle allant
je me suis tenu
élever, comme vent a soufflé
à partir des prés riches avec du maïs

 



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