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mother poem

une petite pche dans le verger s'est dveloppe
il n'y avait jamais un bruit prs du bois mais d'un
donnez-moi
behold je, en mon chiffon, gaze et tresse
les chansons antiques
pour ces bras blancs au sujet de mon cou
je les ai entendus la nuit
nous n'tions pas beaucoup
qui aime la pluie
vous a fait entendent parler jamais
affligez-vous pas pour l'invisible
clair de lune profond et tendre

 



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