What will you do with your Goethe, Valéry or Frost
During a cold night of winter of a long long war?
Books would be needed to warm your body, not your soul:
A few Balzacs - perfect for a fire - or a Proust.
Why would you need your watch anymore? To know the time
When the bullet will strike a corner of your mind?
And the smiling, the loving, the dreaming, the music
Will silently walk out of your door. And you'll loose it.
What will your memory be - in this beautiful night -
When the tanks will destroy your street and put out the light?
Will you hear a hope of my steps? Will I come and embrace
The ghost lying on the bed that has fallen from grace?
