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footprint poem

ville qui n'est pas une ville
il y avait de trois dans le pré par le ruisseau
nous qui se sont tenus
le long d'une rive
sous la barre du guerrier
comment j'aidez vers la droite le monde qui tourne mal
comment sauvage, comment sorcière-comme étrange qui la vie devrait être
les jours mélancoliques sont venus
effrayé pas plus, je dis
le petit pitoyable, porté, visages de rire
pourrions nous mais savoir

 



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