I stare down in thought at my fingers,
Counting the days he’s been gone.
I run out of fingers to count on,
And wonder how my heart,
Has continued to beat for so long.
Birdsong and bees,
The crashing of waves, on a not so distant shore.
An accordion sings it’s chords
Whilst a woman sings along in French.
The sound is broken and cracking,
As it drifts from the gramophone
Through my white French doors.
I can smell the ocean,
And the flowers that surround me
My private garden, hidden behind high walls.
It’s shady and cool where I sit,
Yet I can still feel the summer sun
Enveloping me in it’s warm rays.
A slight gust of wind catches me,
And my hand flies to my re-ribboned straw boater.
I see the floral print of my dress, cushioning my hand.
And I feel the breeze catch at my hair,
Stirring it against my neck.
On the white table before me rest his letter.
It remains, as real as the moisture,
Budding my eyes.
A letter from his pen.
Ma chérie, je m'ennuie de ton beau sourire,
Et ton rire belle avivage mes soirées,
Comme le soleil brille sur l'eau.
Mon cœur ne peut supporter,
La douleur de cette séparation prolongée,
mais il doit en être ainsi,
Ma belle fille, mon fiancé belle ... Je t'aime.
You will forever remain my love,
And as the song ends I dry my eyes,
And look to the sea.
The sunshine sparkling on the waves.
And I wonder if he is seeing the same sight.
For a translation of the French see bellow. Please excuse my inevitably terrible French grammar!