Hate
I wandered like a dog around your house ,
As these dogs cruel, cunning and hungry,
whose coasts and have that go awry
Howling all to death on the stroke of noon.
I lapped like a dog around your home.
Did not you feel my breath under the door
whistled like a wind of fire on your body venal?
Have you not heard all the noise infernal
What my nails were burrowing the dead thing?
Alas, you remained silent, impassive and serene,
on your bed where another shameless wallowing
From infinite sorrow my soul was dying
And my bleeding heart gushes all the hate!
Alas! you kept watch dull, impassive and serene.
Thus bruised broken by all these blows,
I fled through the mountains to fight with the wolves.
Pierre Emile Farbos
March 25, 1902 to December 10, 1954
In this 54th anniversary of the death of my father, I must say that wolves are the same as those entered Paris and the Pyrenees Mountains called .
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