A wounded bird.

The ocean's sky with long cloudy hair where October's shadows shiver on him, Breathes of the North wind,                         on an impossible dream Of a wounded bird who wanted to run away this sad day. But he is feverish as the light,                                         he snuggles up Against a trunk filled with rotten leaves,      he thinks of his fellows flying over the sea. Towards a radiant sky, golden, celestial body of fire Warm the immense clear stream of azure,                                          in the bank Where the crazy,                 luxuriant vegetation touched its green plain. This bushy forest with multiple bewitched noises, Sing the infinite happiness                                with dense and disproportionate trees, Has the deep color of certain fruits, pulpy, fleshy, perfumed. In this charming paradise, the bird dreams about dying silently.