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narrative poetry

il n'y avait jamais un bruit près du bois mais d'un
un, comme part d'un arbre
les jours mélancoliques sont venus
j'ai vu avec les yeux ouverts
sous la feuille sombre de laurier
une petite pêche dans le verger s'est développée
l'amour a été chanté mille manières
laissez-moi se déplacer lentement par la rue

 



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