I miss you.
Here at the foot of Mount Royal
(really only a hill) ,
which I climbed this morning,
I miss you.
I ask what's real.
In this clamour of work,
of French and English...
It's your touch that's real,
your eyes looking-at-me-with-love,
your lips.
Here in Montreal,
at the foot of Mount Royal,
I miss you.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem