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sad death poem

le jour est fait
vous dites que vous m'aimez
environ porté plainte au maître
la foudre a clignoté, et s'est soulevée
exprimons nos passions plus basses
et pendant que nous marchions l'herbe a été faiblement remuée
short et doux, et nous sommes arrivés à la fin de lui
je n'ai jamais su que la terre a eu tellement l'or
elle boite avec stopper le pas douloureux
beau
ma douleur, quand elle est ici avec moi
oranges de plumaison nubian bleu-noires
comme lui à qui esprit dans la flamme du midi

 



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