Pourquoi ne vous donner qu'un avant-goût du poème, voici la suite et la fin pour vendredi.
Slap across a veg-growing alluvial plain we raced in clouds of white dust, and geese fled screaming as we missed them by inches, making a bee-line for mountains gradually enlarging eastward, joyfully certain nightfall would occasion joy.
I did. In a flagged kitchen we were served broiled trout and a rank cheese: for a while we talked by the fire, then, carrying candles, climbed steep stairs. Love was made then and there: so halcyoned, soon we fell asleep to the sound of a river swabbling through a gorge.