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mother poem

à ce qui une femme la comparera aimée
elle boite avec stopper le pas douloureux
ne tournez pas votre tête
tous en dedans et tous sans moi
hors de la fenêtre une mer des arbres verts
j'ai gagné la course
sous la feuille sombre de laurier
bonheur
une fois ce gazon mou
l'enfant qui a jeté la feuille après feuille
si je meurs, pensez seulement ceci à moi

 



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