Out of the blue, I’m not that blue anymore…
And I’m more than a pain in the mass,
My pencil doesn’t woo like a whore,
As I’m happy to admire the grass…
In my garden bloom the flowers
That have waited for winter to end
And should I wait for many hours,
I will gather roses to send !
As my body expects new love,
The whole Spring sings like a choir
That we all need to see the dove
Fly high above the barbed wire !
April, the 30th