Magnificent Winter

The Soul is a gold leaf
that dances and crumbles away
as it falls from a tree
on a grey November day.

The Soul is a snowflake
that shines in the white hugeness
under the cold Winter sun
of a magnificent Winter.

The Soul is a bird
that flies in the sky
and can reach for the stars
without waiting for the Night.

© Frédéric Georges Martin

Born in September

Trees weigh words and light,
and colors drown in the river.
Summer has lost its memory
but gardens remember Spring.

How strange! It seems to me
I am one thousand years old
and I feel like playing again
hide-and-seek with Fall.

I love those ember days
in the breath of the sun.
My soul was born in September:
today is forever.

© Frédéric Georges Martin

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Illustration: Bridge at Montfoucault (Camille Pissaro, 1874)

Thinking of Verlaine

Soon a chill will come,
and soon true gold will abound.
Autumn, today is your birthday
and a bird is singing!

But soon the leaves,
falling aimlessly,
shall stop dreaming.
Autumn, I’m already grieving.

There is a time
when colours hide
a time when we leave and rise.
Autum, I’ll miss you!

© Frédéric Georges Martin

Ode to the Seasons

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