Waterloo Poem by Pierre Rausch

And iron to fire
Made house tremble
There are certain traces
Recognizable, which mark the site of poor
Will you open, yes or no?
That cannot be, gentlemen
It is probable that the inhabitants were
disturbed
Flanked it with an abrupt angle
Sad isn't the soul, when it is sad through
love!
Effect produced, bam, bam,
Two decrepit leaves which were
Such as boles of burned trees
On the battle-field
That great wood-cutter
She tried to turn away
A notebook of paper under hand
Sad isn't, when it is sad through me!
A police agent's card was found on Le Cabuc
Gato, which comes from cat;
How was that
Letter to that old blockhead signed
Ah! you mysterious old devil, I've got you
Beneath the obscure roof
Appears like the inside
She'd lay down the book
On battle-field
The French, who are masters
On the point
Let us knock
She sank down as though, (gato)
Alikeon, pigeon!
Pigeon, alikeon!
Straightening up
Whose force she felt the mob
She laid down the book
|: „Let us break in“: | the door
There are (at this day) certain traces
Recognizable, such as old boles of burned
Which mark the site of these
To distinguish the vague forms (surrounding)
Caught up a pen and exclaimed
Surmounted by
A pointed gable
That this Vichy was of the sort
Perhaps that was the one
Monsieur Vichy
Two Paris reporters
The downright fire
Guillotiner
What the subordinate are called
Ascended to the first floor
Outside spectacle as a parish inn
The alarm shirt as thing
Let us say at once that later on
Did go ashtray
The profound still on earth
Fifteen squadrons army
Steadily at war
Holding and guarding
Men overthrown