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sister poem

polit le dernier âge, le prochain avec espoir est vu
sous la barre du guerrier
je les ai offerts tout l'adieu
laissez-moi être triste
à travers He va
pour vêtir la pensée ardente
beau
quatre-vingts ans ont passé, et plus
je remplis cette tasse
hors de moi indigne et inconnu
tous ces trésors qui se trouvent
une ombre grise mince sur le bord de la pensée
j'ai vu les étoiles les plus fières

 



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