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poem for pastors

les ombres des bateaux
beaux, tragical visages
sous la lune de moisson
une vie sur la vague d'océan
regarder là-bas
parmi la fumée et le brouillard d'un après-midi de décembre
démontré dans la lueur vacillante dans vos yeux
je ne puis pas vous dire maintenant
je sais ce que vous allez dire
quelque part j'ai lu un conte étrange, vieux, rouillé
nous n'étions pas beaucoup
n'accrochez aucune guirlande

 



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