I live, so do you…  What is the point, may I ask you?

It is for sure no child’s game, for, if it was, then why the pain?

My life arrived without a warning and its purpose did not reveal.

I was not asked for permission and saying “no” was no option.

My life is a garland of the seasons and a Master of Illusion:

Who am I:  Caterpillar or butterfly? Am I a seed or a blossom?

Spring of my life – Sweet fragrances and innocence…

Baby moves on all four; at one, it stands up to bravely trot toward summer.

Summer – sunshine – heartbeats…

The child demands to be set free!

Autumn

The sap slows down its course and the tree of my life falls asleep

No, there is no sadness in dying,

Trees are glowing,

Leaves are falling without a scream…

This is what I wish for at the autumn of my life

So that it can be said of it:

“It was for sure a nice autumn.”

And when winter slowly moves in,

Dusting my hair with powder,

I shall happily shuffle toward a renewal of verdure.

Written in French in 1977

Adapted in English 1/20/2015