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