A PEACEFUL MORNING IN THE SOUTH.

The moon is falling away.

Yet it is day.

The sky is bright blue

The shadows, the pines

So close to me,

Slice my sight.

On the roofs of the orange city,

The heat is rising.

We’re in the south.

Play the wind on the tiles,

This is the Mistral.

The smell of thyme,

Evaporate.

The cicadas are singing,

Through the bells of the Mâtine

That lasted half an hour.

I am serene,

For I have time left in Stroll,

This morning.