In a golden garden
playful children
snap their fingers at Winter.

Do they glimpse the Squirrel?
Can they hear the Raven?
Should they try to stop Time?

A black caterpillar
goes round in circles
and Summer ghosts wonder

if that strange latecomer
will have time enough
to turn into the Year’s

last butterfly.

© Frédéric Georges Martin

Dancing chickadees
in fragrant linden trees know
the Wind had a sister called

Those children of Winter
were often questioning themselves
what they would become
on the first days of Spring.

November was gloomy!
December was so cold!
And they were so worried,
poor, poor children of Winter!

But their Father Sky told them
“On the first day of Spring
You’ll become a ray of Sunlight, 
fresh water, and thus lilacs will bloom…”

That is why little chickadees
dance so gracefully.
In the gardens of God

Death does not exist.

© Frédéric Georges Martin

The sun told the sky
the sky told the flower

the flower told the tree
the tree told the river

the river told the sea
the sea told the wind

the wind told the bird
and the bird told the poet…

Oh! In this world of beauty
no one is able to keep

the Secret of secrets!

© Frédéric Georges Martin

L’oeillet, son parfum,
le bleuet, sa couleur,
jour éphémère,
Nuit éternelle.

Mystère du temps,
hasard qui n’en n’est pas,
ombre aimée de la lumière
lumière aimée de l’ombre.

Bonne étoile
et berger,
mère et père
à la fois.

Le sens,
la force qui manque,
l’espoir qui revient,
la Vie, la Lumière, l’Amour.

© Frédéric Georges Martin

Let’s spend
a whole Night
gazing at the stars
above the sea.

Our freed souls
will glide along
the insignificant
waves of time

then the sunrise
and its song of Light
will answer clearly
the three Questions

Who are we?
Where do we come from?
To whom
do we belong?

© Frédéric Georges Martin