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footprint poem

sommeil, frère gris de la mort
tristement parlant
nous qui se sont tenus
j'ai dit, j'ai fermé mon coeur
je fais ma monture, mais personne ne sait
les petites prières blanches
je l'ai vu une fois avant
laissez une subsistance de joie vous
comment sauvage, comment sorcière-comme étrange qui la vie devrait être
il y a un pays complètement de vin
si j'étais très sûr
une fois ce gazon mou
a arqué l'inondation
je ne prie pas pour la paix

 



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