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marriage poem

la fille, art de thou viennent pour mourir
et ainsi elle va
descendu Ă  l'aube des collines windless
environ porté plainte au maître
les vérités terribles ceux-ci soient
je ne prie pas pour la paix
juste en tant que mes doigts sur ces clefs
dites-moi moins ou dites-moi davantage

 



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