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sympathy poem

dans des nombres mournful
bas! 'tis par nuit de gala
il y avait un strangeness sur vos lèvres
les longs couloirs de marbre resounding
tous en dedans et tous sans moi
un mille derrière
sans aucun doute je me rappelle toujours
je me tiens par temps gris froid
comment j'aidez vers la droite le monde qui tourne mal
pour pouvoir voir chaque côté de chaque question
doux comme lit dans la terre
du plancher au plafond

 



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