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footprint poem

la nuit était noire et triste
qui aime la pluie
ombres étendues le long de broadway
les jours mélancoliques sont venus
au-dessus du fleuve, sur la colline
ma mère m'a enseigné que chaque nuit
j'aime voler pendant quelque temps loin
j'ai vu la première poire
le roulement triste du tambour insonorisé a le battement
la nuit est foncée, et les vents d'hiver
vers l'arrière, tournez vers l'arrière

 



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