samedi 19 mai 2018

MARIPOSA

Butterflies are white and blue
In this field we wander through.
Suffer me to take your hand.
Death comes in a day or two.

All the things we ever knew
Will be ashes in that hour:
Mark the transient butterfly,
How he hangs upon the flower.

Suffer me to take your hand.
Suffer me to cherish you
Till the dawn in the sky.
Whether I be false or true,
Death comes in a day or two.

Edna ST. VINCENT MILLAY, Second April