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pumpkin poem

oiseaux contre le vent d'avril
j'ai hérité le désert parce que mon âme est assoiffée
levé des morts
sous ma fenêtre dans une rue de ville
sommeil, frère gris de la mort
l'amour a été chanté mille manières
un ciel qui n'a jamais connu le soleil, la lune ou les étoiles

 



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