The leaves of the almond trees are fresh the walls rain spring water
you choose the comfortable shore the donkeys trotting lightly.
The girls with the blackest eyes
they haughtily mount the screeching chariot March is a baby who is already laughing.
And you can forget about winter:
that bends under the bodies of wood
you recited your rosary long cold kilometers
to cook your face at the hearth.
Now the tick returns to the horses ventilate the fly in the stables
and the children are barefoot they attack the tufts of violets.


(1948)

Read by Nicole

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