The Black Hen in the Garden
The Black Hen
To my son, Jean-Christophe, who died on July 18, 1990
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The black hen in the garden screamed like a madwoman The farmers came to see her She said it was going to rain They didn't believe her, Lanturlu In my beautiful hat he is lost My little prince has gone away To other skies, other valleys Where people are always happy Where the sky is always blue I will never see him again, Lanturlu At the bottom of the sea he is lost When someone dies, nothing is over It's just that they have left We always remain in the hearts of parents, brothers and sisters We will meet again, my friends We will meet again, it is written He had gold in his fingers He was a prince, he was a king In the paradise of good children
He draws on the clouds I loved you so much, my Cricou Why did you leave without us? We could all have loved you better We could all have been happy I didn't understand, I didn't get it And time, alas, has passed I hear his voice, tirela I feel him close to me Death is not a problem For humans, for those who love each other It is enough to listen to your heart Love never dies But love is there, tirela And will never leave us
He tells us to forget He tells us to forgive He also forgives us Him who had done no harm to anyone He was so gentle, my Cricou He was not mean at all When the wind blows over the wheat In the great shiver of summer I think of his golden hair It was so beautiful, it was so good I will not forget, tirela I will not forget this The black hen in the coop Screamed like a madwoman The farmers came to see her She said it was too late She fell asleep in the night A new star shines