If I had only one year left to live
I would thank Spring
for bluebells woods and rainbows,
seen and unseen.

I would tell Summer
it means the world to me.
In Fall, I would plant a tree
under the silent stars.

Leaf on the wind,
I would ask Winter
to give me for Christmas
only one Night more,

and like a child
enthralled by the Lights
I would write in the snow
love letters with many forevers.

© Frédéric Georges Martin

we’ll walk on flower petals
leaving no trace
we’ll talk to a billion stars
without a sound

we’ll read
with closed eyes
the Word about
the Origin of us

then we’ll vanish
into the Light
when we meet again
in the Gardens of the Night

© Frédéric Georges Martin

Tomorrow and the day after
you won’t be alone:
it’s written in stone,
just written in stone.

Won’t you be
risen from the dead?
Didn’t He lead you
beside peaceful streams?

Your eyes get teary,
your soul is weary,
but Love warms your heart
and now you feel stronger.

Not alone,
never alone:
it’s written in stone,
just written in stone.

© Frédéric Georges Martin

You left

like a small feather in the wind,
white feather in the wind
twirling and dancing
small feather in the wind.

You rose up in the sky then disappeared.
But who could ever doubt
a mother’s heart,
a small feather in the wind?

And now you are the light of stars,
a sonata of silent love,
the sweet reason
I never feel

alone.

© Frédéric Georges Martin

jolie journée d’été
ciel étoilé
petites flammes
âmes qui dansent

espoirs déçus
leçons reçues
larmes de joie
lames de fond

le rivage et la mer
la vie, le ciel
tant de lumière
beaucoup nous est donné

mais le temps est compté
alors vraiment
il faut se souvenir
se souvenir d’aimer

© Frédéric Georges Martin

If you show me
how to walk at night
in the light of myriad stars
I know I will find the path.

If you give me a sign
I most certainly will see your face
through the bright dust of constellations
and your hand will guide me.

If I look far enough
when you speak so clearly
the silent language of Midnight skies
I think I will be able to understand,

and if you whisper in my ear
golden words to tell me about
the glowing Breath of God,
I will not fear death anymore.

© Frédéric Georges Martin