The night approaches us,
a mannequin dressed in pain.
It is a motley coat
And keeps out nor rain
Nor snow, nor cold.
In your life, there is night.
When the night goes,
What will be left?
A memory of children:
A blanket,
A sorrow.
On the shelf,
a talisman of work:
A lock of hair
And a picture of a child
Who had no hope
But a shoe, a doll, a leaf,
And a world of clothes.
You look at the picture,
And you don the clothes.
And in the dark,
Wearing them,
You dance.