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acrostic poem

polit le dernier âge, le prochain avec espoir est vu
elle était une beauté en jours
les jours mélancoliques sont venus
écoutez
dites-moi
orage
le poing serré simple soulevé et préparent
il est venu me prendre par la main
ne vous affligez pas qu'elle plus de
pourquoi si triste mon bel?
il y a bien longtemps, dans le jeune clair de lune
ma mère m'a enseigné que chaque nuit
substance de la lune
donnez-moi la faim

 



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