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father poem

mon fils est mort et je suis aveugle allant
les nuances de la nuit tombaient rapidement
vous pensez, mon garçon, quand je mets mes bras autour de vous
écoutez
au-dessus du fleuve ils montrent ŕ moi
sommeil, frčre gris de la mort
dans la terre silencieuse
ami, dont le sourire est venu pour ętre
splendide et terrible votre amour
quelque part j'ai lu un conte étrange, vieux, rouillé
les petites pričres blanches

 



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