Confort At Desk Poem by Pierre Rausch
Confort At Desk
Not window was open
This coincided with a black cloud
They perceived something floating
Which suddenly veiled the sun
Recognized a drunken man
As on the previous evening
The moment was approaching
Not a door stood ajar
Opinions were exchanged
We must place
It was absolutely necessary
The distant tumult
The swans were far away
The bourgeois danger
Delighted to make a jest
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
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7/30/2025 7:20:06 AM # 1.0.0
