The night found her alone,
this wasn’t any special one,
this was a night like any other.
In her bed she is lying,
looking at the moon and wondering
where her dreams had gone
where she lost her life.
Where are the travels,
the exotic lands?
Where is the fame, the wealth,
the prince that would come to save her?
She will never see her France
through the passing of her life.
And in her thoughts
her fate seemed so hard.
She cried in her palms
and sleep found her reciting
a poem she knew when she was a child.
In the morning everything was forgotten.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
i dig it amigo della fuerto anemio All the best Roger