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- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - 2010-09-24 | [This text should be read in francais] | Submited by Guy Rancourt
Le temps et l’avalanche
hiver comme un mort qui bleuit la sainte folie reste écrouée dans ma face hurlante et baignante en bruits de fleurs de givre la vie se vide et dans l’enclos du chagrin les bêtes à cornes haleine rompue repassent (Gaston Miron, « Six courtepointes, 1954-1975 », in L’homme rapaillé)
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