vendredi 21 octobre 2011

September



Tell her that I loved her
for the white soul and yellow scent
of early mornings together
under the pale light of September

Tell her about the four-eyed dreams
in the roundabout of years
her smile is creeping on
a remote ivy souvenir in my memory

tell her about the low tide of loneliness
the fragile pansies in the hands of Fall
dust crawling in my heart
and her song never ending

tell her that I dwell beyond all hopes
in a far distant sky resort
listening to birds and branches
and praying in blown up cathedrals

Tell her
I shall never come back
because all clocks are wrong
when anyone is late.

Claude Lopez-Ginisty

2 commentaires:

  1. her smile is creeping on
    a remote ivy souvenir in my memory

    dust crawling in my heart



    ...formation fantastique.

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