“My love, I had a crazy dream or was it?”
Your dress was white, the sun was bright, the sky was blue, the grass was green, and there, the two of us, you and I, in a field picking dandelions. In the midst of all the bright, bright yellow, stood a solitary flower. Its color hoary white with age.
You said, “Make a wish and blow.” I said, “I would have only one true wish.” I pursed my lips, I closed my eyes, I wished our love would forever last.
But before I could, a puff of wind blew away the flower.
[Mon amour, je fis un rêve, ce fou ou ce n’est pas? Read this poem in French]