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inspirational poetry

peu de parc que je traverse
et ainsi elle va
doux et fort
sous ma fenêtre dans une rue de ville
l'odeur du s'est levée si faux, les épines si vraies
sous la barre du guerrier
la nuit est foncée, et les vents d'hiver
je ne puis pas toujours sentir son greatness
se reposer dans son culbuteur attendant votre thé
allés sont les trois, ces soeurs rares
quelle chance spiteful vole des unawares


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