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autumn poem

dans ma main je me tiens
nous qui se sont tenus
ŕ ce qui une femme la comparera aimée
tous en baisse les années
j'aime mon heure de vent et de lumičre
tandis que je tenais l'écoute, discrčtement sourde-muette
dites-moi moins ou dites-moi davantage
les nuances de la nuit tombaient rapidement
l'aube était vert pomme
ma mčre m'a enseigné que chaque nuit
ŕ l'amoureux passionné
je sais pas oů

 



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