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math poem

travails de la terre
beaux, tragical visages
il y a d'un que ce I par le passé a aimé tellement
au-dessus des dessus de toit emballez les ombres des nuages
comme bougie blanche
gloom
je ne puis pas toujours sentir son greatness
le vieil ouest, le vieux temps
vous avez marche vue par le village
pourquoi si triste mon bel?
doux comme lit dans la terre
les jours mélancoliques sont venus

 



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