Her golden hair
She was mine
of poems
when
we met
the mint of
her eyes refreshed
my mind
at summer
she brought watermelons
to savor
l'or de ses cheveux
let swell
water* at the mouth-*etching
as a fait accompli
in the dew °
of her eyes
one could find
wee nuggets
° rosée > mist from rose!
Jean-Philippe Guéant
Please CLICK HERE to forward comments
on this poem to the poet