This was written for my friends in New York, thinking of them, especially those still without power.
Now the wind is rising at the shore
Sea foaming, waves attack the land
The primal chaos let loose once more
Scatters our world like grains of sand
Buildings shaking, the windows rattle
Behold tide advancing down the street
There will be no victory in this battle
Plains engulfed where people meet
All are lonely while these vast clouds
Wander over sky, bring fear and pains
Bring out the dead, prepare the shrouds
Aftermath devastation, a silence reigns
Pray for those living, and those now dead
And for those surviving, give daily bread.
1917: Cliément d'Caen et ses patates (2) - Siette et fîn dé ch't' histouaithe. *The conclusion of this story.* *(Siette et fîn)* - Eh bein sé-m'n'âge! se fit Cliément, eh bein sé-m'n'âge! - Et le v...
1 day ago