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retirement poem

le poing serré simple soulevé et préparent
elle pourrait l'avoir su en ressort premier
comme lui à qui esprit dans la flamme du midi
dans leurs regimentals loqueteux
quelque part j'ai lu un conte étrange, vieux, rouillé
la nuit était noire et triste
son gris bascule toujours la tour au-dessus de la mer
j'aime ma vie, mais pas trop bien
j'ai moulé le monde
soyez patient, la vie, quand l'amour est à la porte
je vous attends

 



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