Rene Francois Armand Prudhomme
Rene Francois Armand Prudhomme Poems
|81.||Les Amours Terrestres||11/24/2012|
|83.||On The Water||1/1/2004|
|85.||In This World||1/1/2004|
|86.||Music For The Dying||4/20/2010|
|87.||Never To See Or Hear Her||1/1/2004|
|88.||Prière Au Printemps||11/24/2012|
|90.||At The Water's Edge||1/1/2004|
Comments about Rene Francois Armand Prudhomme
The vase where this verbena is dying
was cracked by a blow from a fan.
It must have barely brushed it,
for it made no sound.
But the slight wound,
biting into the crystal day by day,
surely, invisibly crept
slowly all around it.
The clear water leaked out drop by drop.
The flowers' sap was exhausted.
Still no one suspected anything.
Don't touch! It's broken.
Thus often does the hand we love,
barely touching the heart, wound it.
Then the heart cracks by itself
and the flower of its love dies.
Still intact in the eyes of the ...
On The Water
The sound of bank and water is all I hear,
The sad resignation of a weeping spring
Or a rock that hourly sheds a tear,
And the birch leaves' vague quivering.
I do not see the river bear the boat along
The flowering shore flits past, and I remain;
And in the watery depths that I skim,
The reflected blue sky flutters like a curtain.