I love an Island where fragile flowers defy
both basalt and Death. An Island called Exile.
It is black and red. It belongs to the Sea.
It appeals to the stars, its rocks teach Eternity.
The die is cast, broken Motherland,
and soon it will be time to leave you.
But your language flows through my soul
like a river of fire,
and as long as I can breathe,
I will write on every wall
whether made from silence
or from ignorance,
the word you never should have forgotten:
France, forever in my heart,
may you rest in peace.
© Frédéric Georges Martin
Illustration : Ria Munk am Totenbett, Gustave Klimt (1912)