POEMES et POETES

"Le vieux chêne"

C'était un chêne vieux, l'avait plus de cent ans.
Il en avait connu des hivers, des printemps,
Renaissant chaque année à la sève nouvelle,
En donnant plus d'ombrage, et des feuilles plus belles.
Il était des oiseaux le refuge béni,
Et quand venait l'avril, à la saison des nids,
Fraîchement reverdi par Madame Nature,
Il berçait dans ses bras les frêles créatures.

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                         Les premières amours s'y donnaient rendez-vous,
Echangeaient des serments sous son feuillage doux,
Et sur son tronc noueux, pour leur porter bonheur,
Ils s'en venaient graver leurs prénoms dans un coeur.
Il était pour beaucoup symbole de beauté,
Il portait dans ses flancs toute l'éternité.

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                 Et puis, un certain soir, l'homme fit un discours.
"Il cache le soleil, il nous vole le jour,
Il a assez vécu, tient beaucoup trop de place,
Il faut le supprimer, il faut que ça se fasse.
Ce sera cent fois mieux, pour la communauté,
De construire un parking quand il aura sauté"

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                       Alors, ils sont venus. Le chêne centenaire
A combattu longtemps la hache meurtrière.
Puis torturé, vaincu, renonçant à la vie,
S'est abîmé au sol dans un cri d'agonie.
Bien sûr, ils l'ont construit, leur parking. Mais vois-tu,
D'aucuns pensent encor au géant abattu,
Et sur le ciment froid, là où battait son coeur,
Il y a chaque jour un gros bouquet de fleurs.

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                          (Renée (Renée Jeanne Mignard)