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angel poem

quelle chance spiteful vole des unawares
un poèt, ayant pris le frein outre de sa langue
à certains les gros dieux
mon âme disparaît plaquée dans des choses magnifiques
les jours mélancoliques sont venus
effrayé pas plus, je dis
la nuit était noire et triste
polit le dernier âge, le prochain avec espoir est vu
j'ai vu que vous hunched et tremblant sur les pierres
juste en tant que mes doigts sur ces clefs
s'il
nous nous étendons

 



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