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death poetry

au-dessus d'elles toutes, regardant vers le bas
je sais ce que vous allez dire
il y a bien longtemps, dans le jeune clair de lune
je les ai entendus la nuit
dans la terre silencieuse
donnez-moi la faim
le soleil est vers le haut
une ombre grise mince sur le bord de la pensée
travails de la terre
quelque part j'ai lu un conte étrange, vieux, rouillé
vous ętes beau et fané

 



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