

L’harmattan
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L’harmattan
Eux, hurlant le vent
Le virulent harmattan
Lui, susurre des cris
Haletant l’hallali
Abyssal est son néant
Parfois une morne accalmie
Isolant un désenchantement
De son île, aux alizés meurtris
D’une caravelle, voguant
Les idées obvieuses , lui s’enfuit
Il espère plus la mer, que l’étang
Et le fleuve en rigole


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