| Did Cupid from me his eyes avert Or has my thirst for love dried up its lake? A lake… But for a fleeting moment did my eyes spot the promise of solace— A pool of tears remains. Yet it did to my grateful heart seem That to cries bright echoes cried. On a sisterly wind glided a vessel of import, Lifelong desired and homeward bound. Poor heart… Bear your toil and sound still, Lest you were not forged to beat alone. (June 1980) Copyright ©2002 Olivier Serrat |
| solace |
 |
 |
 |