A Wet Day of March

The drops of water fall from the sky,

Making darker the light and soaking what was dry.

The birds rush their quest for a shelter

As I’m sitting in a warm classroom ignoring the teacher.
The glitter of the Leman imprisons my mind,

And all elements mix in a way to me very kind.

The wind baffles my sight as it starts to blow.

Something’s still flying: is it a mew, or a crow?

 

A vessel crosses the white aisle on the perturbed surface

And I realize how far I went from this artificial place.

As I try to focus on the words wandering in the room,

My brain starts filling with gloom.

 

Has the weather changed?

The birds are now singing,

They are happy and swinging;

The light that lightens outside

Like a magnet, catches my eye.

 

Around me the walls disappear,

I was thoughtful, but now I cheer.

I am flying with the birds,

And the inexistence of words.

 

An allergy turns me into a cry,

My mind is in great confusion:

Is the blue of the sky

Only a mere illusion?

-A.L.

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