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sympathy poem

s'il
gros mâles noirs dans une salle de vin-baril
tous en dedans et tous sans moi
je me tiens par temps gris froid
dans des vos bras était le plaisir immobile
mais alas, ręves justes
l'obscurité vole les formes de toutes les reines
il y a une heure du repos paisible
dans des nombres mournful
il est vrai que vous disiez que les dieux sont plus d'utilisation ŕ vous que des fées

 



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