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poem for dad

elle a entendu les enfants jouer au soleil
pourquoi
ombres à ailes balayant près
observer toute la journée la vague bleue se courber et se casser
parmi la fumée et le brouillard d'un après-midi de décembre
doux comme lit dans la terre
les bateaux se situent dans le compartiment
pourquoi sont les choses qui n'ont aucune mort
babylon -- où je vais rêver

 



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