Toutes et tous uni.e.s dans un même cri – 11/12
Ballad of the Young Husband
Six weeks o’ marriage, a full moon,
One night I woke alone;
I took the gun, unlatched the door,
And felt meself turn stone ―
Across the pasture ran a trail
Of footsteps in the dew,
That led toward the upper field
And then were lost to view.
The field was small and walled with trees,
I stood back on one side,
And saw ‘er dancing there alone,
All flowered like a bride.
Around ‘er naked waist a belt
Of orange poppies hung
And moved like suns above the corn
While she swayed and softly sung. mehr lesen / lire plus
