Dear Friend,
Encapsulated in a wooden-
chrysalis, by incommunicable depression
writing to you my first letter.
Dying to listen to a 'How are you? '
like a wilted rose I have ceased to bloom.
like a starving animal I have decayed vigorously.
Moments of delight have perished.
Beaune has shown my past; - how
I sat and stared at the Yonne River.
I am ever so unapparent now that;
I can hide my emotions.
My mind is empty but,
thoughts provokingly question my anxiousness.
I can return to you and,
let my friendship be known
Yet this abyss cannot be bridged
Love
Your Friend
From Paris
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem