The pastor’s mind is dark as a moonless night.
In it she is a sepulchral figure, cold as death.
Some times, on certain moonlit nights
As the world becomes unbearably beautiful,
She looks far, far away as he talks about God.
And she suddenly laughs and hugs him.
That is when the pastor becomes father.
He sees their silhouettes in the pale moonlight.
There has got to be reasons why God created
Pastor’s nieces and boy friends and moonlight.
(On reading Claire de Lune
A short story by Guy De Maupassant)
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem