nature

posté le 20-07-2024 à 15:33:12

ODACE

 


Commentaires

 

1. gladys-lemire  le 20-07-2024 à 16:03:39  (site)

poéme
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If the sound of the bell is sad, it is much sadder
Winter, when night comes and when it’s the Angelus
Which rings heavily at the village bell tower,
Punctuated by the sobbing of the sea on the beach.
In hearts its mournful echo resounds:
The one who stays thinks of the one who left
On his boat among the mist and the storm,
And wonders, near the spinning wheel that stops,
If there, in the waves, his man, the sailor,
Like her, she heard the blows of the grave brass,
And if, despite the terrible blade that grumbles,
He remembered to cross himself like her.
Having rung the bell and said the prayers,
The two old men were going to return to their homes
And said goodbye on the threshold of the church,
When they saw, lying on a gray stone,
Something white that had been left there;
And, having both approached, it seemed to them
That it stirred vaguely. The old priest,
Worried, quickly leaned over and was able to recognize
That it was a poor being barely swaddled,
A child that a horrible mother had thrown away,
Enjoying the confident sleep of childhood,
Passing by, in this corner, almost naked, defenseless,
Like a weary traveler casts his burden far away.
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2. gladys-lemire  le 20-07-2024 à 16:04:44  (site)

smiley_id117191smiley_id2354644smiley_id166427smiley_id2385148

3. BernardNowman  le 20-07-2024 à 16:19:26  (site)

magnifique article et poeme mon amour (l)
je t'aimeee (l) my wife always d'amour (l) à moi smiley_id117191smiley_id117191smiley_id2354644smiley_id2354644smiley_id166427smiley_id166427

 
 
 
posté le 19-07-2024 à 16:31:39

CHARMED

 


Commentaires

 

1. gladys-lemire  le 19-07-2024 à 17:09:01  (site)

poéme
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Who does not love these gardens of the humble whose hedges
Are snowy in spring, then turn purple with berries
What does the blackbird visit in the late season;
Where sleeps, covered in moss, an old part of a house
Let a vine gaily crown its frieze,
Under the narrow window and the time iridescent;
Where tufts of boxwood of immemorial age
Spread their austere and cordial perfume;
Where old age makes gooseberry bushes stingy;
Gardens measuring barely a few acres,
But so full of greenery and destruction
That we would follow the thread of generations;
Where near the deciduous and rotten trunk that a worm rummages,
Hair lit, the ruddy child chirps;
Where towards the green bench the good old men trembling
Come, on their crutch supporting their slow steps
And maintaining cheerfulness, – because their presbyopic soul
Sees better the beautiful distances that the light inhabits, –
With a look already heavy with eternal sleep,
Softly smile at their last sun?
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2. gladys-lemire  le 19-07-2024 à 17:12:40  (site)

mon ti nhomme to me(l)
In your eyes I see the eternal dawn,
A burst of sunshine that never goes out.
Your love is a flame that burns in me,
Illuminating my path, to infinity. »
smiley_id117191smiley_id2354644smiley_id166427smiley_id2385136

3. BernardNowman  le 19-07-2024 à 17:33:20  (site)

ma ptite femme d'amour (l)

dans tes yeux je vois l'aube éternelle
un éclat de soleil qui s'éteint jamais
ton amour (l) est une flamme qui brulle en moi
éclairant mon chemin vers l'infini
je t'aimeeeeeeeeeeee (l) my always love d'amour (l) à moi
smiley_id117191smiley_id117191smiley_id2354644smiley_id2354644smiley_id166427smiley_id166427

 
 
 
posté le 18-07-2024 à 12:22:53

GOTHIK

 


Commentaires

 

1. gladys-lemire  le 18-07-2024 à 12:30:28  (site)

Poéme
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And deep in the field far away,
Where are the ones we like,
The most loved one cries for me, lost
From my death to the coming weeks;
The most beloved of my heart is saddened
And dips his hands like flowers
At the sources of his eyes of sorrow,
The beloved of my heart is saddened.

And deep in the field far away,
The beloved put on her skates,
Feeling in the heart of ice,
And far towards me strives and tires;
The beloved hangs on the stained glass windows
From the chapel from which we can see far,
With the bread, the salt and the rings,
My poor soul, which does not die.

And deep in the field far away,
The beloved will cry no more
The beautiful holiday days are over,
To the family rings on his hands;
The beloved saw me as a saint
Promising an eternal Sunday
To childish and white souls,
And at the very bottom of a domain far away.
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2. BernardNowman  le 18-07-2024 à 12:45:03  (site)

kome tjrss c magnifique mon amour (l) smiley_id117191smiley_id117191smiley_id2354644smiley_id2354644smiley_id166427smiley_id166427

3. BernardNowman  le 18-07-2024 à 12:46:03  (site)

je t'aimeeeeeeeeeeee (l) ma chouchounette d'amour (l) à moi
smiley_id117191smiley_id2354644smiley_id166427

4. gladys-lemire  le 18-07-2024 à 13:04:44  (site)

mon ti namour to me
Dans le tourbillon de ta présence, je me perds,
Et je trouve en toi le refuge de mes tourments,
Chaque étreinte est un voyage vers l’infini,
Et chaque baiser est une caresse de l’âme.(l)
smiley_id117191smiley_id2354644smiley_id2354644smiley_id166427

 
 
 
posté le 16-07-2024 à 17:06:59

WITH LOVE

 


Commentaires

 

1. gladys-lemire  le 16-07-2024 à 17:12:16  (site)

poeme
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The night is no longer painful.
Wrapped in the clouds
she recovers from the day and the sadness
in its wake, storms hurt
defy the flighty birds
dark and voluble.

Yet this is where we dream
it is in this air that the best truces are played out
which soothe and which integrate.
The clearings are hardly visible
but it is certain that she is smiling.
In the day hides the beautiful night.
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2. gladys-lemire  le 16-07-2024 à 17:13:38  (site)

je taime très fort mon ti nhomme to me (l)
smiley_id117191smiley_id117198smiley_id2354644smiley_id2354644smiley_id166427

3. BernardNowman  le 16-07-2024 à 17:31:42  (site)

c toujour magnifique mon amour smiley_id2354644smiley_id2354644smiley_id2354644smiley_id2354644

4. BernardNowman  le 16-07-2024 à 17:32:56  (site)

je t'aimeeeeeeeeee (l) tres fort moi ossi my always love d'amour (l) à moi
smiley_id117191smiley_id117191smiley_id2354644smiley_id2354644smiley_id166427smiley_id166427

 
 
 
posté le 16-07-2024 à 12:18:04

DAS ECHO UNSERES SCHWEIGENS

 


Commentaires

 

1. gladys-lemire  le 16-07-2024 à 12:47:13  (site)

poeme
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By the streams, by the waterfalls,
In the fields of flowering olive trees,
On the rocks, under the arcades
Whose time undermines the debris,
Under the walls of the old monastery.
In the wood that mystery loves,
Under the shade of the solitary pine,
Under the cool sheltered plane tree;

At the time when, under the humble cottage.
The goatherd takes his meal,
In the hour when the light shines,
At a time when the day does not shine;
Summer, when under the green shade
You come and sit down after work:
Winter, by the cold, by the storm;
Always, everywhere, I follow your steps.

When the Argentinian bells
Wake up the bird in its nest,
It’s me who follows you at matins:
And when the prayer ends.
Leaving the Gothic temple,
It's me who goes under the portico
Offer you, following ancient usage.
Holy water and blessed branch.
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2. gladys-lemire  le 16-07-2024 à 12:49:30  (site)

jtaime mon amour tjors (l)
my always me life (l)

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3. BernardNowman  le 16-07-2024 à 12:54:55  (site)

JOLII article et poème mon amour (l)
je t'aimeeeeeeeeeeee (l) ma ptite femme always (l) à moi tjsssss
smiley_id117191smiley_id117191smiley_id2354644smiley_id2354644smiley_id166427smiley_id166427

 
 
 
 

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