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fall poem

sommeil, frère gris de la mort
la nuit est foncée, et les vents d'hiver
descendu Ă  l'aube des collines windless
et mon nom est véridique
l'obscurité
je vous attends
j'ai regardé sur le ciel glorieux
certains des maux que vous avez traités
et pendant que nous marchions l'herbe a été faiblement remuée
pourquoi
ils ont jeté une pierre, vous ont jeté une pierre
fleur blanche de mousse, fleur rouge de flamme

 



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