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haiku poem

l'enfant qui a jeté la feuille après feuille
pour venir tellement bientôt à ceci a imaginé l'obscurité
ne vous affligez pas qu'elle plus de
il raconte de bonnes vieilles périodes
comme bougie blanche
bien que je sois peu en tant que toutes les petites choses
vous avez marche vue par le village
les poèts le disent
une ombre grise mince sur le bord de la pensée
les petites prières blanches
c'était l'automne de l'année

 



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