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acrostic poem

donc je ne puis pas
l'enfant qui a jeté la feuille après feuille
les voûtes du pont rouge
une lueur d'or dans le gloom et le gris
la étoile-poussière et lumière vaporeuse
j'au-dessus-avais préparé l'événement
quand les heures du jour sont numérotées
orage
les jours endeared à chaque MUSE
bien que repine d'amour, et frottement de raison
oranges de plumaison nubian bleu-noires
tristement parlant
quand absence de sa taille de montagne
je suis vieux et aveugle

 



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