The fourth day poem

Hurlant
Comme un loup piégé,
Fouettant
Le miroir lisse du fleuve
En vagues d’acier
Le vent arrive,
Charriant le froid des glaciers
Et les chants des baleines.
Mes oreilles sifflent
Et le monde d’avant est balayé
Avec les fleurs du blanc cerisier
Aux recoins du passé.

Andreas_Achenbach_-_Clearing_Up—Coast_of_Sicily_-_Walters_37116

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Jane Dougherty

I used to do lots of things I didn't much enjoy. Now I am officially a writer. It's what I always wanted to be.

5 thoughts on “The fourth day poem”

    1. Occasionally a poem comes with a French version. Or it can be a French poem that comes with an English version. But I can only rarely sit down and write from scratch in French. This is just a version of the Wind poem that translated itself like this.

      1. Not hard work at all Jane, I’ve become adept at using Google translate. 🙂

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