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Article Communautés Concours Essai Multimédia Personnelles Poèmes Presse Prose _QUOTE Scénario Spécial | ||||||
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agonia ![]()
■ Au pied du grand chêne ![]()
Romanian Spell-Checker ![]() Contact |
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- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - 2011-12-03 | [Ce texte devrait être lu en english] |
1.
I’d taste thy lips... Be they poisoned to enchain my every breath, I’d taste thy lips... 2. And on thy lies I’d grow a gait So eyes would fill with better hope, For where eyes see and yet I don’t, The mind is to me of no worth, Nor is to you. Drop not a tear for those that feel no blood, But bones in man And simply crack At simple minded questions. 3. Make pace on white, soft skin To bury us within, This perfect space... 4. And yet, Without our fate to bind us We’d feel free… To grow as trees in gardens, Tongues on lips, A freedom we endure… To bring us peace; Those foolish rules bring grief of too much doubt And such we owe to ourselves, Or such we need.
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