Poeme : Soul Eperon

Hey, the tone that
Having a bath
In the night parfum
A child balancing
On the shore
Of the wounds
The fresh air of the morning
This scent has filles
Thé domaine of sadness

Moving again and again
Thé wings of m’y being
Landed, covered with water
On the thresheield
Of first drops.

e, tə tɔnə ta
aviŋ a bat
ɛ̃ tə niɡt paʁfœ̃
a ʃild balɑ̃siŋ
ɔ̃ tə ʃɔʁə
ɔf tə wund
tə fʁεʃ εʁ ɔf tə mɔʁniŋ
ti se-as fijə
te dɔmεnə ɔf sadnεs

mɔviŋ aɡɛ̃ ɑ̃d aɡɛ̃
te wiŋz- ɔf mi bɛ̃ɡ
lɑ̃dεd, kɔvəʁεd wit wate
ɔ̃ tə tʁεʃεεld
ɔf fiʁst dʁɔp.