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memorial poem

vous a fait entendent parler jamais
sous ma fenêtre dans une rue de ville
l'obscurité vole les formes de toutes les reines
je me demande où vous vivez
qui est le coureur dans les cieux
tristes sont ils qui savent pas l'amour
j'ai vu la première poire
son visage est juste et lisse et bon
je suis une femme
dites-moi moins ou dites-moi davantage
quelques jours plus venteux

 



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