At full lungs   
 I smelled the crystalline note of the stream   
 and birdsong   
 near the great beeches of the castle.      
  
 Ô mère des solltudes   
 that people are noisy   
 in the plain where the forges roar   
 to pursue lost time.      
  
 There were some great parties   
 when slippery on the floor   
 strict shirts and pre-ripped pants   
 hands joined in the blue.      
  
 It would be worse to pick    
 some flowers behind the barbed wire   
 to cross the gap   
 survey the world of permissiveness.      
  
 Feral and prone to derision   
 we journeyed vainly   
 where long awaited   
 the tinkling childhood   
 par sa marche du crabe   
 dared to challenge with strange antics   
 the "Incoyables" de la Poterne.      
  
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