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poem for pastors

vous ętes beau et fané
hors de la fenętre une mer des arbres verts
quand vous venez ce soir
un počt, ayant pris le frein outre de sa langue
truely
descendu ŕ l'aube des collines windless
soudainement, hors des maničres foncées et feuillues
quand la nuit dérive le long des rues de la ville

 



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