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epic poetry

ne tournez pas votre tête
j'ai entendu le vent toute la journée
je n'ai jamais su que la terre a eu tellement l'or
dans l'obscurité et la paix de mon lit final
c'était l'automne de l'année
ma mère me tortille des roses humides avec la rosée
tranquillement, avec le reverance, dans la crainte
quand la nuit dérive le long des rues de la ville
treize ans toujours

 



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