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kid poem

il est venu me prendre par la main
j'ai vu la premičre poire
nous cassons le verre dont le vin sacré
en dessous de cette tombe modeste un conqueror se trouve
je remplis cette tasse
il n'y a aucune évasion par le fleuve
tristement parlant
le petit pitoyable, porté, visages de rire
elle a éclaté le vin féroce
je l'aime

 



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