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type of poetry

sommeil, frère gris de la mort
la pluie plus de, et l'air brillant
sans aucun doute je me rappelle toujours
j'ai entendu le vent toute la journée
il est venu me prendre par la main
behold je, en mon chiffon, gaze et tresse
foncé-eyed
à certains les gros dieux
complètement des larmes
affligez-vous pas pour l'invisible
je fais ma monture, mais personne ne sait

 



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