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poem

améliorez que le granit
ombres à ailes balayant près
y a il quiconque là
avec la joie et la merveille
l'air est plein de l'aube et du ressort
laissez-moi être triste
mon amour vrai de son oreiller a monté
peu de parc que je traverse
orage
il n'y a aucune évasion par le fleuve
mais alas, rêves justes

 



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