To build a home    
With his hands pound the straw    
Put up the walls       
Omen of a lifting of the ground  
Of its elected members    
To compose with water, light and earth    
Before night marks the end of the day.             
 
They were
near the fountain
The mullet ready to tread the fresh watercress
Two clever elves
Dabbling in their memories
Why and how
To raise the building in this place.        
 
Ah ! That ! I flew over them
Their shade trees planted
When the harsh sun
Brought together three generations
In front of Pierrot's canvas taking a gentle siesta
Knitting, chatting and reading the newspaper
Gathering the bravest.            
 
The morning mists fade away
Raising straight like Baptiste the herbs of the night
For pastourelle on waking
Sing songs and laughter
On the front of the house
That they built our ancestors
For more than their lifetime.        
 
 
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