Le vent est de passage Poem by André Schmitz
Le vent est de passage
Le vent est de passage
(tel un inconnu qui surgit
d'une brèche à l'horizon).
Nous l'invitons à table.
Sa langue de feu fascine les enfants
son habit trouble les robes.
On voit le vin s'agiter dans ses veines.
On sent une folie nouvelle
circuler dans les sangs.
On se parle en toutes sortes de langues.
On ne comprend rien
mais on va peut-être tout savoir.
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3/12/2026 1:21:03 AM # 1.0.0
