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daughter poem

vous pensez, mon garçon, quand je mets mes bras autour de vous
la nuit est foncée, et les vents d'hiver
glooms des vivre-chênes
les cieux qu'ils étaient ashen et sobre
le soleil a fait un pas vers le bas de son trône d'or
une vie sur la vague d'océan
ma mère m'a enseigné que chaque nuit
je vous attends
il y a trois manières dont les hommes prennent
roses et or
hauts murs et énorme
bonheur

 



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