Traducir a
You who drag your life like a fishing net
Walking bareheaded towards the voices of love
You will know that down here where everyone is hurrying
Scattered joys make you come and go
You look at the sky like a wedding present
You hope for silver stairs from him
And then, disillusioned, you roll back your hump
Running like crazy among the oceans
On your beautiful ship whose name is "Janot du Matin"
There is the good, the worst that you hold in your two hands
You who fish in the sun, poor fisherman of the moon
You who fish, at the moon, poor summer fisherman
You try to catch the stars one by one
And each one is your coin for you
You look, you see, like this poet thief
Who manufactured, it is said, a long time ago
With great care, because he was honest
100 sous coins that cost him 10 francs
I don't know why they say in England
"Every glass that clinks is a sailor who dies"
Tonight, please, no glasses clink
I would worry too much for my poor fisherman
On his beautiful ship called "Janot du Matin"
He left without saying anything, holding out his hand to me
Ver letras en otros idiomas
