Player Poem by Pierre Rausch

When she went away
When she played the game
Every sort of this has its own
As a creation to pay
When she went away
Above this reflection to share
And the novices at the bottom
By a sort of lazzaretto entrance
Just that remained, there remained a doll
You are a virgin, but I am not
Public was warned, make it common
Make it all right in case of need
A sort of acoustic telegraph
Above this refectory to share
Placed beside the portress
Give distinction throughout