Par les soirs bleus d’été, j’irai dans les sentiers,
Picoté par les blés, fouler l’herbe menue :
Rêveur, j’en sentirai la fraîcheur à mes pieds.
Je laisserai le vent baigner ma tête nue.
Oh ! quand la mort que rien ne saurait apaiser,
Nous prendra tous les deux dans un dernier baiser,
En jettera sur nous le manteau de ses ailes,
Puissions-nous reposer sous deux pierres jumelles ![..]
Saviez-vous que l’épigramme était le plus court des genres littéraires ? Découvrez ma sélection d’épigrammes d’auteurs et mes écrits personnels.
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