The guys who love kissing standing against the gates of the night
and passers-by passing a finger mark them.
But the kids who love
there are no
and it is their only
shadow trembling in the night
stimulating the anger of passers-by.
Their anger, their contempt
,
laughter,
their envy. The guys who love
there are none. They are elsewhere
much of the night away
much higher in the bright of day
splendor of their first love.
Jacques Prevert
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