The Gypsy Nun... Silence of lime and myrtle. Mallows in the fine grasses. With the nun embroiders wallflowers on straw cloth. In the grey chandelier seven prism-birds fly...

The church growls in the distance,
like a bear on its back.
How well she embroiders with that 
grace !

On the straw cloth
she would like to embroider
the flowers on her fantasy.
What a sunflower !
what a magnolia of sequins
and ribbons !

Think ...
What crocuses and what moons
on the altar-cloth of mass !
Five grapefruit's sweeten
in the nearby kitchen.
The five wounds of Christ
picket in the Holy land.
Through the nun's eyes
two horsemen gallop.

A last muffled murmur
undoes her blouse
and while she looks at hills
and clouds in the rigid distance,
her heart of sugar and lemon
verbena breaks.

Oh !
What a steep plain
with twenty suns up above.
What standing rivers her
fantasy glimpses !

But she goes on with her flowers,
while,
standing in the breeze,
light plays chess
high in the lattice...