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son poem

allé avant nous
il y a des gains pour toutes nos pertes
élever, comme vent a soufflé
dans sa tente gardée
sous un arbre de propagation de châtaigne
comment j'aidez vers la droite le monde qui tourne mal
il y avait un strangeness sur vos lèvres
le poing serré simple soulevé et préparent

 



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