Rien n'est jamais acquis à l'homme.
Poésie ô danger des mots à la dérive.
Un beau soir l'avenir s'appelle le passé C'est alors qu'on se tourne et qu'on voit sa jeunesse.
Jusqu'ici, les romanciers se sont contentés de parodier le monde. Il s'agit maintenant de l'inventer.
La poésie, notre poésie se lit comme le journal. Le journal du monde qui va venir.
Poésie ô danger des mots à la dérive.
De la femme vient la lumière.
© 2026 My French LLC
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