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epic poetry

de nos endroits cachés
treize ans toujours
la foudre a clignoté, et s'est soulevée
les jours hypocrites
la nuit était noire et triste
quand vous venez ce soir
un oiseau a chanté
le long des banques
les jours mélancoliques sont venus
cette cuvette argentée antique du mien
écoutez la mer retentissante
et pendant que nous marchions l'herbe a été faiblement remuée
quatre-vingts ans ont passé, et plus

 



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