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gothic poetry

je ne puis pas toujours sentir son greatness
élever, comme vent a soufflé
le poing serré simple soulevé et préparent
short et doux, et nous sommes arrivés à la fin de lui
j'étais une déesse avant que le marbre m'ait trouvé
bien que repine d'amour, et frottement de raison

 



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