Au fond du puits

Des trucs.

03 novembre 2015

June suns, you cannot store them / To warm the winter's cold


Now hollow fires burn out to black,
And lights are fluttering low:
Square your shoulders, lift your pack
And leave your friends and go.
O never fear, lads, naught’s to dread,
Look not left nor right:
In all the endless road you tread
There’s nothing but the night.
- A.E. Housman

Posté par Morgeek à 19:12 - Commentaires [0] - Permalien [#]
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