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grandmother poem

dans des nombres mournful
seule
il est vrai que vous disiez que les dieux sont plus d'utilisation à vous que des fées
un stylo d'acier
elle a dit
pourquoi faites-vous toujours stand tremblant là
vous a fait entendent parler jamais
il y a bien longtemps, dans le jeune clair de lune
j'aime mon heure de vent et de lumière
je sais pas où
je n'ai jamais su que la terre a eu tellement l'or
sous un arbre de propagation de châtaigne

 



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