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Then they languished, the serene rooms, with a vague murmur.
To itself playfully, the unexpected spring warmed up with the slight rustle of the usual little orchestra.
Like a subterranean river, the lost melancholy occasionally resurfaced here and there, among playful wisterias and nettles: signs of life.
Never as now, never again, the harmony on the penguin carousel seemed amused and melodious, brightening so many and too many afternoons.
It did not foresee (how could it?) anything.
It only played, heart of glass and carefree flight.
Life does not have time to find rest, that it is already no more.
But its traces, no, those remain engraved.
You sprouted yesterday, snapdragon.
We will be able to draw forever from your inexhaustible dream, audible sign of a life that once was.
Inexhaustible happiness.
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