I remember the Autumn that made the thrush fly
through the passionless air in a far-stretched sky
When the sunbeam was tired as it darted the air,
And the north wind exploded in trees with despair.
Yes, we walked hand in hand, and were caught by the dreams,
She and me, both of us with no thoughts and no schemes,
All at once then she asked, "Will you love this day on?"
In a voice deep and fresh and alive in its tone.
And I smiled back discreetly, and this was reply
To her look full of love, gently spoken demand,
In devotion I kissed her and touched her white hand.
Ah, the first morning flowers, how sweetly they smell!
And the sound of whisper came over like spell
From the lips I adore as they uttered one word
I was longing to hear and I finally heard.
Aug, 7. 1977.
(Translated from French)