Smell of the rains of my childhood
The last suns of the season!
In seven years as he(it) made well,
After boring holidays,
Find itself in his(her,its) house!
The old class of my father,
Full of crushed wasps,
Felt(Smelt) l " ink, the wood, the chalk
And these wonderful dusts
Amassed by a whole summer.
O time(weather) charming soft mists,
Games, long flights(thefts) of birds,
The wind blows under the court,
But I hold between palm(real tennis) and thumb(inch)
One red table apple
Ren Guy Cadoux
