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gothic poetry

le régal royal a été fait
sous ma fenêtre dans une rue de ville
je me tiens par temps gris froid
pharaoh, roi de la terre de l'Egypte
nous avons aucune honte?
se reposer dans son culbuteur attendant votre thé
soudainement, hors des manières foncées et feuillues
dans la terre silencieuse
je fais ma monture, mais personne ne sait
environ porté plainte au maître

 



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