.Quand on a roulé sur la terre entière,
On meurt d'envie de retour dans le train
Le nez au carreau d'ouvrir la portière,
Et d'embrasser tout comme do bon pain.
Ce vieux clocher dans le soleil couchant
Ãa sent si bon la France !
Ces grands blés mûrs emplis de fleurs des c.
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