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    Pierre wrote (translated) .........


    "Regarding me, I stalking consolation as the Hunter stalking game. Wherever I believe to be seen in the forest, I shoot. Often I don't reach that vacuum but, once from time to time, prey falls at my feet. And, as I know that consolation lasts as the time a breath of wind in the top of a tree, I have to hurry me seize my victim. What did I then between my arms?... "


    I talk to the trees
    But they don't listen to me
    I talk to the stars
    But they never hear me

    The breeze hasn't time
    To stop, and hear what I say
    I talk to them all
    In vain

    But suddenly, my words
    Reach someone elses ear
    At someone elses heart
    Strings too . . . . . . . . . . .

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