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child poem

composé seul du loveliness
il est allé
donc je ne puis pas
ma mère me tortille des roses humides avec la rosée
une lueur d'or dans le gloom et le gris
nos moments plaisants volent
observer toute la journée la vague bleue se courber et se casser
les longs couloirs de marbre resounding
beau
pourquoi puis, la nécessité nous voient?
en ce moment
le vieil ouest, le vieux temps

 



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