A Christian Sénéchal
On the road a cart in the cart
a child
Who does head down
Under surprising jolts.
Violence road
Hunting hitch off
Hence the earth is only
ball in the big sky uncertain.
Do not speak: here
That slaughters the sun.
Twelve butchers are online, such
Twelve cutlass.
Here is the moon bleeds
To give him his pallor,
It works on the anvil
From thunder and horror.
"Child
hide your face because you run great risks.
- Do not you see, stranger,
What I have a good team. "
Boys
other planets
Remember that child
which we have no news since
already very long. In what
fern sleeping where an insect
Your soul looking for his first color?
was through some time of eclipse,
Cast Away a thrill, a sad smile.
Occasionally a doe
Between the foliage was coming to see, then
away under the supervision of a dream
Who covered with grasses, brambles,
and always ready to return .
The sun whispers
A snow and urges
to die without suffering
Even as the cloud.
What is this other voice
Who speaks to me and promise?
Even in the dead of winter
Is it the heat
Who Turns the Earth
Always the same heart,
And to reassure me, in all seasons
Leans to my ear and whisper
my name?
In the forest are cut down without hours
a large tree. A vertical blanking
Aspen barrel-shaped trunk
Nearly extended.
Look, look, birds,
Place your nest
In this high memory
long as he whispers again.
