Verlaine

Above its roof
the thick dark canopy
of a maple rustles
then heaven’s vault shines.

How gently the toll of its bell
reaches the Almighty
carried by the maple
heard by a bird.

My God
we live simply now,
each day’s quiet
far from the city.

I am going grey
my days are numbered.
Where’s my youth,
What have I done to it?

End

 
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