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thanksgiving poetry

quand absence de sa taille de montagne
du soleil ni des étoiles
il y a trois maničres dont les hommes prennent
les jours mélancoliques sont venus
au-dessus du fleuve ils montrent ŕ moi
tous apaisent le long du potomac
je meurs
quand les mer-vents ont percé nos solitudes
avec le coucher du soleil
polit le dernier âge, le prochain avec espoir est vu
le ciel
la noblesse de la mort encore
nous n'étions pas beaucoup
les vieilles chansons

 



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