- -My Stella - 82

- My Stella- 82 - - At home- Rain is flooding the field, The storm is prophesying the doom, That is old and seedy, My mind sails to far away moor, Where rivers flow to meet the sea With no shore along and bottomless. There is my meeting with my love, My stella lives there in sun and shower. Beyond the grave my heart envisages, above the heaven it soars. This earth is the resume of my fewness to the temporal boon, And to win lenity of my heartbeat, I will go to that shade of wild bloom, the couch of soft dry leaves, and the swoop of wild birds and bees for season's copious excess and plethora of timbre slow and soft almost soundless. I will go and sleep upon the cold and serene Lap of my stella who lives there, on the beach of Lethe, on the pasture and among bower of poppies and nuptial vision. She lives there for me, for my coming back home. Standing at this doorsill, friendless, at this declining day, waned and extinct dream, a final call and I am En famille.