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family poem

short et doux, et nous sommes arrivés à la fin de lui
doucement pleurant
un orage monte sur la marée
je dois dire bonne nuit
le vieil ouest, le vieux temps
dans l'obscurité et la paix de mon lit final
pourrions nous mais savoir
le petit pitoyable, porté, visages de rire
la femme a beaucoup manqué, comment vous appelez à moi, appel à moi

 



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