It’s true
We are dying
To know whether
We all have
A dead-ringer out
There somewhere, one
That doesn’t know
Who or where
We are either,
Nor whether we shall
Ever meet, to say
Our long-overdue hellos,
Then go gently on our way,
Richer with the knowledge
That nothing’s impossible,
Even the incredible
Occurrence of our own
Birth that one fateful day.
Wonderful poem, mon frere.. (There should be an accent mark over the first e in "frere" but I don't know how to obtain one so I will simply mention its absence, not very similar to the absence of a dead-ringer (is there such a person as a "live-ringer"?)).
ReplyDeleteMerci beaucoup, brother!
ReplyDelete