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grandmother poem

je ne prie pas pour la paix
je l'aime
pourquoi faites-vous toujours stand tremblant lŕ
le jour est fait
j'ai jeté mon âme ŕ l'air comme un vol de faucon
une petite pęche dans le verger s'est développée
apportez-moi la chanson douce
en septembre
il y a trois maničres dont les hommes prennent
est souvent il pas aussi?
vécu ŕ côté de la rive
effrayé pas plus, je dis


 



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