I give up writing poetry !
I’m going to be rich tomorrow.
I’d rather others took over the tow :
Who wishes ! Who wishes my double to be ?
Worthwhile endeavour, I dare testify :
Long hours given to the promenade
While attempting to rhyme a ballade,
I spent late nights and far away did lie.
Under a lucid and clear moon,
The bridges insidiously glowed,
The waters’ waves graciously flowed.
Paris : gay as a cemetery’s gloom.
All this good fortune, I renounce
And I bequeath to the Young my lyre !
Children ! To my delirium be the heir.
Me, I inherit the seductor’s mantle at once.
© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2013
Dream, Translation of Paul Verlaine’s poem: Rêve