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child poetry

mon fils est mort et je suis aveugle allant
il parle pas bien
elle a un espace libre, loveliness vent-abrité
il y a bien longtemps, dans le jeune clair de lune
avant le saint en bronze solennel
ceux sur le supérieur indiquent qu'elles vous connaissent, la terre -- elles sont des menteurs

 



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