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family poetry

leurs beaux cheveux
je descends les chemins de jardin
comment comme les étoiles sont ces le blanc, les visages inconnus
pour vêtir la pensée ardente
vous avez marche vue par le village
le soleil est vers le haut
en septembre
tous en dedans et tous sans moi
son gris bascule toujours la tour au-dessus de la mer
juste en tant que mes doigts sur ces clefs
à travers He va
écoutez

 



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