Could it be that in the night The swans are all descended
northern white
And they sleep on the sea, numb,
head bent under their feathers?
Not swans
but the snow that fell on the islands winged
Do in the estuary that was rocks
Who dream gently under their feathers.
MAOD Glandour
Photo: Brehat.
(thank you for this wonderful idea Tanguy and the discovery of this poet Breton)
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