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mom poem

exprimons nos passions plus basses
travails de la terre
si j'étais trčs sűr
roses et or
hors du profond et de l'obscurité
serene d'aprčs-midi et lumineux verts
puisque j'ai senti le sens de la mort
quelques jours plus venteux
mais alas, ręves justes
observer toute la journée la vague bleue se courber et se casser
comme bougie blanche
les drowses pâles de jour sur l'occidental trempent
sans aucun doute je me rappelle toujours
elle a entendu les enfants jouer au soleil

 



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