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grandmother poem

ceux-ci soient
quand la nuit dérive le long des rues de la ville
un stylo d'acier
ami, dont le sourire est venu pour ĂŞtre
vous faites entendre
le soleil est vers le haut
je me suis tenu prĂŞt le tissu pour rideaux ouvert
le ciel
ces yeux noirs i une fois ainsi félicité
au-dessus du fleuve ils montrent Ă  moi
Ă  travers He va
il y a d'un que ce I par le passé a aimé tellement

 



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