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concrete poetry

il y a une heure du repos paisible
a arqué l'inondation
affligez-vous pas pour l'invisible
une lueur d'or dans le gloom et le gris
pour vêtir la pensée ardente
fleurs des bébés
je me demande parfois s'il est vraiment vrai
o juste et stately bonne, dont les yeux
une pensée gentiment solennelle
ce qui conserve
splendide et terrible votre amour
mon fils est mort et je suis aveugle allant
faible-envolée est la chanson
le petit pitoyable, porté, visages de rire

 



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