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Poem

I carry within me the rhythm of a winding road, a dance of freedom and longing,
how to resign myself to being constrained within the limits of an infinite world,
rows of poplars as pillars sustain the canopy of the meeting under which we find ourselves,
I indulge myself in an afternoon of ooh-la-la, dreaming.
The yellow eyes of the daffodils gaze, bending in gossiping groups,
a probing breeze incites deep freezes,
I am a sweet weed in this place of oscillation and betrayal,
with a stranger I walk, my convenient fiancé, a game of fate.
The height of his black hat challenges the trees, like Corinthian columns,
guardians of an alley I must tread — Oh, God! I must tread,
a fear slips down my spine as an unsure bride,
the tiger eyes of the lilies watch, wishing to be in my place, to be free.
They dare to dream they could uproot themselves like me,
would waltz at their wedding like me — but I must, I must,
but their envious leaves remain unembraced,
I envy the bare arms of the lilies, their love yet unmet.
The daffodils, with empty heads, laugh, trying to read my thoughts,
what do I care for their thoughts sour as lemon tart,
and the orange lilies with brocade-edged infernal hues,
what fear should I have of the fiery tongues of burning words?
The thicket feels the square heels of my laced-up boots,
the impression left grows more expressive than the first,
beware the French tongues of the clinging thistles.
The wedding carriage rolls on the bumpy roads to Versailles,
where my constrained corset, with hooks and ties, lies,
the rhythm of a winding road dies strangled in an endless minuet.

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