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...
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