I will silence Sundays’ insolence
which leave land mowers
disturbing the calm of the air
so that the soft green of spring
can be protected0
Archives par mot-clé : sundays
#3006 poetry
Oh ! but the rest of the day !
scanning the horizon with my eyes
whitish birds are screeching
they are not all seagulls
then the ripples of water that sparkle
like the laughter of a child on Sunday