The City is free of sinThe snow has given it absolution A man who slips A horse that fallsOh no, the city is in a nightgown
Pierre Albert-Birot
Gardens are poemsWhere you stroll with your hands in your pockets.(Les jardins sont des poemes Ou l'on se promene les mains dans les poches.)
poetry poems gardens
Who is that blond child laughing as he runs after his colored marbles? [my marbles]It's meAnd who is the poet writing this poem?That blond child who laughed as he ran after his colored marbles
innocence childhood poet child
.. And we left the lightfor the night of the street
light night
Oh you dear companionsElectric bells of the stations song of the reapersButcher's sleigh regiment of unnumbered streetsCavalry of bridges nights livid with alcoholThe cities I've seen lived like mad women(The Voyager)
city alcohol cities drunk
city snow
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