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child poetry

quand je vais de nouveau à la terre
ne restez pas plus
dans une vieille chambre s'est doucement allumé
sommeil, frère gris de la mort
le ciel
affligez-vous pas pour l'invisible
pourquoi faites-vous toujours stand tremblant là
du soleil ni des étoiles
c'est l'arsenal
je suis allé à travers les rues
en matins nuage-gris
simplement parlant
le soleil a fait un pas vers le bas de son trône d'or

 



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