Je suis un ennemi du "langage à signes" : je préfère suggérer les choses que les dire. Si j’avais dû en dire plus, je l’aurais fait. Mais j’estime qu’il faut en dire peu et permettre à celui qui vous écoute de continuer à se faire sa fête tout seul.

Meteorology of love

First the sky, of vibrant hue,

Was a potent azure blue;

Our love a perfect dreamy bliss

Where nothing could ever go amiss.

Then came the cirrus of our days;

Little things, in many ways –

A harsh word, an attitude,

Marring our blue sky’s altitude.

They congregated – white Chantilly –

Little arguments, so silly;

Bickering for any reason;

Meringue clouds on our horizon.

My heart felt a little sick

As clouds amassed, so grey and thick;

A dark foreboding, rather glum –

Before the battle, a rolling drum.

Our dark sky broke, all storms and rage,

A roaring lion in a cage.

Howling tempests, high-strung passion,

Were our love story’s conclusion.

We’d once believed in sunny gold,

Before our skies turned wet and cold.

Today, your absence from my days

Accents my eyes with rainy greys.

28^th October 2020