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father poem

la nuit est foncée, et les vents d'hiver
une lueur d'or dans le gloom et le gris
une petite pêche dans le verger s'est développée
laissez-moi être triste
pour pouvoir voir chaque côté de chaque question
le ciel
ombres à ailes balayant près
j'étais une déesse avant que le marbre m'ait trouvé
j'ai vu les nuages parmi les collines
comme je me trouve couvert dedans, examiné dedans

 



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