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mother daughter poem

dites-moi moins ou dites-moi davantage
tristes sont ils qui savent pas l'amour
glooms des vivre-chĂŞnes
dernier minuit
quelques jours plus venteux
vous pensez, mon garçon, quand je mets mes bras autour de vous
l'obscurité roule vers le haut
le maître des destins humains suis moi
il y a d'un que ce I par le passé a aimé tellement
il n'y avait jamais un bruit près du bois mais d'un

 



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