And I, the while, the sole, unbusy thing,
Nor honey make, nor pair, nor build, nor sing.
_Samuel Taylor Coleridge
_ T'was by a lovely morning _ When the summertime came _ and just before that school closed _ Going my way, nice and easy, in deed _ suddenly, I felt inside of me something bleed _ making my day not so bright _ a surge of tears, an urge to cry, in despair _ I had none, something to tell, or to whom to write, _ nor to recite, this piece of poetry, nor pair _ that's when sometimes you got the blues _ and you had the heart torn away, too loose. _ I encarved our hearts into a trunk of a tree, _ At the fork of two roads, I lingered as often, _ I decided, but to choose that day the one not taken, _ I stopped by, at the school of cutting classes, where you play hide, and seek, by the bushes _ where you learnt the tools of the trades, arts and crafts, _ those small things of life, state-of-art, of everything, _ things that people envy you for, gossip about and jibe, _ but silently wish to do, and dare never did. _ Sweet sixteen, smoking cigs, makes you feel not at ease, _ just because to show off, among friends, and but just to please. _ What had left, at last, of things that had to pass, but then when there is no more of such sweet thing, _ of see you later, I love you and for forever, alas _ who fancy, to tell me how? It’s all fake _ you, who knows, where and how to take _ "and I, the while, the sole unbusy thing, _ Not honey to make, nor pair, no build or sing" _ It was all about love, and understanding. _ Bitterly, this is it, C’est la vie, yes I learnt _ By the road not always that people took, _ I went to see the railroads men, and departing train. _ with pain in my heart, and the day as it mights rain _ I will tell you such, and such where the joy _ tears, laughter, wounded limbs of a lit’l boy _ If you please, take pain to listen to me _ it's a nonsense, you may say _ then you burst in laughers, _ and that, also I know, and dare say _ Oh, my heart, you still remember, do you? _ When Marie went to draw water from the well _ She was so pretty and jolly. _ Then, Fatima, the brunette, oh! Holy molly, _ when I took her hand, it was so smooth _ ever than a step stone, where we sat, _ at the threshold of a fountain _ tearing off petals of daisy flowers, hours, and hours _ we thought then, nights and days, that the world was ours _ To please them both, I learnt poetry, De Musset, _ Baudelaire, et Rimbaud, Aragon, Hugo and La Fontaine. _ Love me, love me not, a love play _ Forget me not, Proust, the Swann's way. _ à L'ombre des Jeunes Filles en Fleurs. _ But I forgot love it's a leur _ Cutting classes, The Fridays afternoon _ And Sweet Tuesdays, with moon _ For the love of a girl’smile _ you can do anything, like walking hundred and a mile _ Many years, later on, I can’t help But still remember now and then _ Those were the days, my friend That seemed never end _ Please tell me where are they _ When, eat, love and play _ Was a day of not worried