The Village
It is as if life in general
Werenít concerned by
Such horrific events,
Or had no sense of decency.
The river kept flowing
The trees kept growing
Flowers kept blooming.
It took longer for men to come back,
Apparently only their world had stopped,
Nature, I guess, had seen it all before
And it did not mourn for fools anymore.

Everything is quiet,
It seems the most disturbance
This place could suffer
Is a singing duel
Between two morning birds.
How deceptive.
This old bridge where I learned to fish
Could tell of different, darker times
And so could the few burnt ruins
They left as a testimony,
And which rest in eternal mourning
Next to the homes that sprang after.

The people have the same slow walk
As the villagers I once knew
But as part of the legacy of their history
They have learned the distrust
Of those who donít belong.
It amuses me to see how intrigued
They are by my presence.
How can a man they have never seen
Share so much of the patrimony
Of their physical appearance?

But how dare they look at me
Like I am the stranger
When they have been dwelling
On the tomb of my past?

Precedent Suivant
Aftermath Of a Summer Snow