A CELLEANA, EN HOMMAGE A SON VIEIL ONCLE...
Publié : 29 nov. 2010, 02:56
SINCèRES CONDOLéANCES POUR LE DéCéS DE TON ONCLE, CELLEANA 
NOUS RESPECTONS TON DEUIL ET TE SOUHAITONS BON COURAGE
72 ANS C'EST UN BEL à‚GE POUR MOURIR...MON PAPA A MOI AVAIT CET à‚GE.
POUR TOI CELLEANA :
Reaching Out
I feel your pain
and long to touch the hurt
and make it melt away.
Yes, I know
that I can't really see
the breadth
and depth
of this dark valley you're in.
I can't truly know
just how sharp the knife is
in your soul -
for it is you in its path,
not me.
But I have known other valleys
and in my heart
still bear knife-wound scars.
Even so,
I would walk your road
and take your pain
if I could
I cannot.
And yet, perhaps
in some way
I can be a hand to hold
in the darkness;
in some way, try to blunt
the sharpness of pain.
But if not -
it may help a little
just to know I care.
POUR TON ONCLE :
Funeral Blues
Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.
Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
Scribbling on the sky the message He is Dead
Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves,
Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.
He was my North, my South, my East and West,
My working week and my Sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
I thought that love would last forever: I was wrong.
The stars are not wanted now; put out every one,
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun,
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the woods;
For nothing now can ever come to any good.
NOUS RESPECTONS TON DEUIL ET TE SOUHAITONS BON COURAGE
72 ANS C'EST UN BEL à‚GE POUR MOURIR...MON PAPA A MOI AVAIT CET à‚GE.
POUR TOI CELLEANA :
Reaching Out
I feel your pain
and long to touch the hurt
and make it melt away.
Yes, I know
that I can't really see
the breadth
and depth
of this dark valley you're in.
I can't truly know
just how sharp the knife is
in your soul -
for it is you in its path,
not me.
But I have known other valleys
and in my heart
still bear knife-wound scars.
Even so,
I would walk your road
and take your pain
if I could
I cannot.
And yet, perhaps
in some way
I can be a hand to hold
in the darkness;
in some way, try to blunt
the sharpness of pain.
But if not -
it may help a little
just to know I care.
POUR TON ONCLE :
Funeral Blues
Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.
Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
Scribbling on the sky the message He is Dead
Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves,
Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.
He was my North, my South, my East and West,
My working week and my Sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
I thought that love would last forever: I was wrong.
The stars are not wanted now; put out every one,
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun,
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the woods;
For nothing now can ever come to any good.