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friendship poetry

mon fils est mort et je suis aveugle allant
le maître des destins humains suis moi
je suis le vent qui hésite
quand je suis retourné au coucher du soleil
ce compagnon étrange est venu sur brouiller des pieds
il y a un pays complètement de vin
ma mère me tortille des roses humides avec la rosée
je me tiens par temps gris froid
lĂ  oĂą je trouvez-vous
elle doit retourner, elle a dit
la noblesse de la mort encore

 



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