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family poetry

quatre-vingts ans ont passé, et plus
bonne femme
la nuit est foncée, et les vents d'hiver
glooms des vivre-chĂŞnes
est souvent il pas aussi?
quand les mer-vents ont percé nos solitudes
short et doux, et nous sommes arrivés à la fin de lui
je suis une femme
souvent je pense Ă  la belle ville
serene d'après-midi et lumineux verts
démontré dans la lueur vacillante dans vos yeux

 



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