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- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - 2015-04-08 | [This text should be read in francais] | Submited by Guy Rancourt La brume ourdit à l’horizon Ses longues toiles d’araignée, Sur les bois en effeuillaison Le vent fait siffler sa cognée. Le soleil est comme un tison Parmi la cendre des nuages… On sent l’amère exhalaison Des vains rêves et des veuvages… (Jeanne Neis-Nabert, « Poèmes » in Silences brisés, 1908, p. 44)
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