Venust
Venust
The murmur of water, an age-old paradise,
Seeping through perfume-strewn gardens,
Inflames all my senses, which I like to enjoy,
When, near the water-box, I wipe the spray.
The delicate powder woos my face,
As if pouring out its generosity to me;
I purposely linger before the landscape:
Nature! I am moved in placidity.
On the ocean of love, in first offering,
Caressed by the sun, my heart is filled with gold
When I observe, in the hedge, a hollyhock,
While the birds trill on the buttercups.
How many mornings my eyes have tasted the delight
Of this haven of peace with its tree-lined paths,
In the suavity of my complicit ego,
Embracing the undoubtedly exaggerated finery.
But this walk, where happiness abounds,
Like an outstretched hand, invites me, in great secret,
To the familiar environment that probes me,
And guess, in my forehead, a discreet ally.