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love poems

bonheur
l'enfant qui a jeté la feuille après feuille
quelque part j'ai lu un conte étrange, vieux, rouillé
il n'y a aucune bande, toutefois observé et tendu
l'air est plein de l'aube et du ressort
de la chanson et du rêve pour jamais allé
pour moi étais un conseiller décharné et grave
laissez le bel unsaid de mots

 



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