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baby poem

là où je trouvez-vous
peut-être ce n'est aucune matière que vous êtes morte
de la chanson et du rêve pour jamais allé
si j'avais su l'étroit une prison est amour
pour la vérité, pour l'amour
oiseaux contre le vent d'avril
la noblesse de la mort encore
à ce qui une femme la comparera aimée
roulez-moi vers le bas par le pré

 



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