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grandma poem

la étoile-poussière et lumière vaporeuse
et ainsi elle va
gaily par les champs nous avons dansé
les petites prières blanches
substance de la lune
voici ne tomber aucune lumière
il y a des gains pour toutes nos pertes
il y a un pays complètement de vin
cette année
je me demande où vous vivez
pourquoi sont les choses qui n'ont aucune mort
seule
à partir des prés riches avec du maïs

 



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