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La pierre a cessé de chanterUn burin orphelinEt nos cœurs se brisent.Nous ne sommes pas de pierre. Ce soir, mes éléphants, mes pattes de mouche ont le cœur rempli de larmes. Le sculpteur Petrus, mon papa, a reposé son marteau et son burin. Merci Papa de nous avoir offert tant de beauté. Tu avais le…
