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sympathy poem

mon amour vrai de son oreiller a monté
mélancolie, bleu il était
bas! 'tis par nuit de gala
les ombres des bateaux
près d'un champ en détresse
les bateaux se situent dans le compartiment
quand un contrat est fait pour la liberté
souvent je pense à la belle ville
jamais dans toute ma vie
peut-être ce n'est aucune matière que vous êtes morte
voici se trouver une dame la plus belle
par le pont grossier


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