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thanksgiving poetry

il y a une heure du repos paisible
tous en baisse les années
un poèt, ayant pris le frein outre de sa langue
exister de cygne
et mon nom est véridique
tranquillement, avec le reverance, dans la crainte
les jours endeared à chaque MUSE
glooms des vivre-chênes
robuste, humble-abeille de somnoler
je descends les chemins de jardin
à minuit

 



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