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narrative poetry

tristes sont ils qui savent pas l'amour
la fille, art de thou viennent pour mourir
l'enfant qui a jeté la feuille après feuille
dans la terre silencieuse
nous nous étendons
quand vous venez ce soir
j'ai su le silence des étoiles et de la mer
doucement maintenant la lumière du jour

 



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