I am stagnant here and you don't believe,
My feeble hands won't move anymore
As the machine has stolen, sorry
I cannot give you the right time.
Alas! You choose the digital watches.
Nobody wants to paint and repair me
And I remember the colonial days here
Lovers meet & depart with thousands of promises!
But none comes nowadays except a friendly beggar
Who counts his till, a nightcap with a scanty meal
And I hear he groans like a bull!
* Heaven lies about us in our infancy.
-Alphonse M.L.Lamartine
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem