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baby poem

cette cuvette argentée antique du mien
puisque j'ai senti le sens de la mort
le maître des destins humains suis moi
babylon -- où je vais rêver
mais alas, rêves justes
je suis vieux et aveugle
il y a une heure du repos paisible
hauts murs et énorme
elle a dit
il y a des gains pour toutes nos pertes
dans votre vol

 



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