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70 x 100 cm

La tendresse au midi des feuilles mortes


Nobody around us seems to be doing any good

Never mind sweetheart, it is just the wind

Playing with dead leaves

With us there

To enjoy it


The sun is still too strong to look into, but

The reflection in your eyes is just right

For me to see

The world



Our old bodies are aching, and time seems

To be running out, but be comforted:

There is no one

Who shares

Our privacy


And in our past the world is being created

Anew. And nothing to be done is left

Undone. We are

The makers of

Our world


How young we are. And strong. And blessed

Beyond compare. And our soft hands can

Now redress all pain

So it never