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son poem

robuste, humble-abeille de somnoler
êtes vous éveillé?
un mille derrière
levé des morts
tristes sont ils qui savent pas l'amour
je ne puis pas toujours sentir son greatness
je me demande parfois s'il est vraiment vrai
se déclenchant vers le haut, tombant vers le bas
fleurs des bébés

 



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