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love poem

l'enfant qui a jeté la feuille après feuille
à travers He va
pensées par ma tête
ma mère m'a enseigné que chaque nuit
au-dessus du fleuve ils montrent à moi
un mot de vol d'ici et là
mon fils est mort et je suis aveugle allant
dépassement par les murs blottis et laids
très bien, vous libéraux
je vous chante
nous nous étendons

 



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