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Every day when his mind was at ease,
Relieved of the need to tell us about the countries he’d seen,
He would raise his hands high above our heads,
Appealing on our behalf before the Almighty to let…
Greetings 53 year old Tristess, you must have guessed
back then, before youth and old men in fancy cars
turned their backs on you,
how all this would vanish, only Mitterand and the Citroën remain;
yo…
Why, death, do you tarry so?
Why does your chariot come so slow?
Old age has prepared for me
Every illness and complaint.
What good are my hundred years?
If such pain I undergo—
Why, death…