As soon as tears fall, poetry sings a song,
Body strains the drops and gives them breath,
World stops around: no sound, cheers no long,
Whirlwind insults "la Petit Mort", signs of dearth.
Your bright eyes reveal traces of light
Contempling the tears in the tarnished face ( that ):
Altough may be deformed, shows authentic sights
Of weakness and defeat by frustation and grace.
Sweet young lady, "Liaisons" decorate your beauty-dress
"Broderies" fasten your shining arms.
It is me who dresses you and, within myself, I own your cloth.
But she will fade as mortality re-emerges.
Clothes are now "noir", long black retails of the song.
Silence.
Cold.
Rain.
A bitter drop drains the sad leaf as tears fall!
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