Quand il est mort, le poète, Tous ses amis pleuraient. Quand il - TopicsExpress

Quand il est mort, le poète, Tous ses amis pleuraient. Quand il est mort le poète, Le monde entier pleurait. On enterra son étoile, Dans un grand champ de blé. Et c´est pour ça que l´on trouve, Dans ce grand champ, des bleuets. Gilbert Bécaud When he died, the poet, All his friends were crying. When he died the poet, The whole world was crying. They buried his star, In a large wheat field. And that is why this large wheat field is covered with Bluebells

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