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poem for pastors

près d'un champ en détresse
vers l'arrière, tournez vers l'arrière
la pluie plus de, et l'air brillant
remplacez la vision du plaisir
la foudre a clignoté, et s'est soulevée
l'obscurité roule vers le haut
je suis le vent qui hésite
une lueur d'or dans le gloom et le gris
le soleil et vent et battement de mer
ce qui nous fera maintenant


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