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grandmother poem

l'air est plein de l'aube et du ressort
ce qui je vous doivent
n'accrochez aucune guirlande
musing, entre le coucher du soleil et l'obscurité
elle était une beauté en jours
je suis las d'ĂŞtre amer et las d'ĂŞtre sage
la foudre a clignoté, et s'est soulevée
le mystère le plus foncé et le plus étrange
maintenant tandis que mes lèvres vivent

 



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