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sad death poem

ceux sur le supérieur indiquent qu'elles vous connaissent, la terre -- elles sont des menteurs
une petite pêche dans le verger s'est développée
quand les heures du jour sont numérotées
un dieu
comme bougie blanche
la foudre a clignoté, et s'est soulevée
près d'un champ en détresse
serene d'après-midi et lumineux verts
mais alas, rĂŞves justes
doucement pleurant
ne vous affligez pas qu'elle plus de
monde qui change sous ma main

 



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