I sketch the delights of a future that sprouts

I sketch the delights of a future that sprouts

(Translation of an Occitan sonnet written in French, available here or here)

18 March 2016

sketch pinterest com
Courtesy pinterest.com

 

Listen to the wind that blows within my Heart

It calls on lilies on the birds of the plains

The cry of dead leaves that one would pick often

At the foot of love songs, beaten old stories

 

Time of remembrance, in shade of the awning

I buried live the memories of my sorrow

In green-grey meadows of the monastery

Where holy waters of wells opened my veins

 

A robin was flowing from mystical scene

In ruins of ancient Rome where lie thermal baths

A trickle emanating from magical source

 

Tip of North a vain star, his heart now closes

Drawing from depths of mythical momentum

I sketch the delights of a future that sprouts

 

Reading of the poem: 

sketch fr pinterest com
Courtesy pinterest.com

La Terre vue du ciel – Armand Amar

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