Discussion:Michael Edwards (poète)

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De l'émerveillement.[modifier le code]

The travel

The map of our hearts on the wall of the city comes unstuck and flies away in the direction of the sea.

The palm trees hair bows before its aerial way.

The kids who destroy with innocent big joy their sand castles try to catch it but the map slips between their sunny golden fingers as an icy kite.

The lost American rich women cry when they try to see it with their opera glasses : the light which trembles on the surface of our map is so virginal.

Now touched by the highest meerschaum of the last horizon waves the map grows up and becomes the full sail of our dream ship.

Into the sail my siren you blow the names of the unknown submarine rivers and me I try to conduct our bodies to the peaceful islands of our future.

When we will be in view of their shores I will bring down the sail and you will read the salty wet map.

The first step will be the first kiss.

The sand will burn and will be so fresh.

You will receive my love.