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pumpkin poem

bien que je sois peu en tant que toutes les petites choses
je ne prie pas pour la paix
quand la nuit dérive le long des rues de la ville
la foudre a clignoté, et s'est soulevée
les nuances de la nuit tombaient rapidement
Ă  travers He va
nous qui se sont tenus
polit le dernier âge, le prochain avec espoir est vu

 



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