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Chanson Un Peu Naïve

 What body can be ploughed,
Sown, and broken yearly?
But she would not die, she vowed,
But she has, nearly.
Sing, heart sing; Call and carol clearly.
And, since she could not die, Care would be a feather, A film over the eye Of two that lie together.
Fly, song, fly, Break your little tether.
So from strength concealed She makes her pretty boast: Plain is a furrow healed And she may love you most.
Cry, song, cry, And hear your crying lost.

Poem by Louise Bogan
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