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fall poem

orage
nous qui se sont tenus
une pensée gentiment solennelle
souvent je pense Ă  la belle ville
mon fils est mort et je suis aveugle allant
un mille derrière
elle connaît un dégagement bon marché
une fois ce gazon mou
je fais ma monture, mais personne ne sait
écoutez la mer retentissante
vous vous rappelez
j'ai dit, j'ai fermé mon coeur
dernier minuit
doucement maintenant la lumière du jour

 



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