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tous en baisse les années
par de la large le sein faisant mal terre
il y a mille années silencieuses
beaux, tragical visages
une pensée gentiment solennelle
l'odeur du s'est levée si faux, les épines si vraies
souvent je pense à la belle ville
elle était une beauté en jours
pas du monde large de totalité
pour vêtir la pensée ardente
cette cuvette argentée antique du mien
nos moments plaisants volent


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