poet Henri Beauclair

Henri Beauclair

Madrigal

Mon cœur tarabiscoté
A pris un point de côté.

Tes effluves le font battre
Comme trois. Que dis-je ? Quatre.

Ce n’est point un cœur de rien,
Un noctambule vaurien,

Il ne fait de politesses
Qu’aux baronnes, aux comtesses.

Et, ce bel entretenu,
Regarde, il est devenu,

Grâce au sucre où tu t’enlises,
Confiture de Merises.

Poem Submitted: Monday, October 15, 2012

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