LA ROSE

                                                                                                                                                                                                  
                                                                                                                                                                                                  
                                                LA ROSE                                                                                                                                   
                                                                                                                                                                                                   
                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                       

                                            Je n'étais  qu'une rose                                                                                                                   

                                            Qui n'était pas éclose                                                                                                                     

                                            Si frêle et si gracile                                                                                                                         

                                            Si jeune et si fragile .                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                          

                                             En pleine adolescence                                                                                                                  

                                             Juste sortie de l'enfance ;                                                                                                             

                                             Sachant rien de l'amour                                                                                                                 

                                             Quand tu me fis la cour .                                                                                                                

                                             Quand tu as pris mon coeur                                                                                                          

                                             Comme on cueille une fleur ,                                                                                                         

                                             Je fondis en émoi                                                                                                                           

                                             Ne pensant plus qu'à toi                                                                                                                
                                                                                                                                                                                                   

                                              Mais la rose a fanée                                                                                                                     

                                              A la fin de l'année   ;                                                                                                                     

                                              En me laissant sans arme                                                                                                            

                                              Le goût salé des larmes  !...                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                               

                                              La rose de velours                                                                                                                        

                                              La fleur de mes amours                                                                                                                

                                              Qui un jour a fleuri                                                                                                                        

                                              Mais bien vite a fletri !........                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                

                                                                                                                                                                                                    
                                                                                                                                                                                                                              Mocotte  Ecrit en 1956                                                                                                                                       

Comments

[adeline]

c'est magnifique je narrive pas à dir se que je resent, c'est vrai enduré que tu parle de ton premier amour non ? courage tu va y arriver, plein de bisous !!!! , adeline.

[mocotte]

merci ma petite Adeline c'est gentil

[sandy]

tu es excellente, ce poème est absolument magnifique, et je croit que tu parles probablement de ton premier amour, ai-je raison ? continu comme ça
"amoureusement" sandy

[mocotte]

c'est vrai tu as raison c'était mon premier amour .. déçu!