Under the Azure Sky

caravan

Summer is over,

Yet, here, flowers still bloom,

The birds, refusing to fly south,

Defy the incoming cold.

We have undanced dances in our feet,

And sun rays flowing in our bones,

And we care not about the chilly

Breeze skipping over the green leaves,

Curling them, ever so slightly,

Drying them at the tips.

Summer is over,

But no for you and I.

We have no packed camp, here at the beach.

We are going on strike, against

The dictatorship of time.

Our hearts are not going back

To our towns, back to our lives.

We are not saying good-bye.

We shall be summer’ children, even

In the ice. We shall shine in the grey

Autumn skies and warm the snow

Until it melts. And in this place

Of our minds, summer shall reign, forever,

You and I, wild hair and wide grins, until

Our story ends, no matter what,

How or where our bodies are,

You and I shall always be in

Front of the sea, guitar at hand,

Indifferent to red leaves and bared trees,

And the passing of the years, and

All the other summers that will be over

And fade, for this summer, yours and mine,

Shall not die, and here the best of us shall

Stay, in an eternal loop of delight.

So let summer be over the land,

Over those too afraid dissent and rather accept,

With no objection, the venerability of the years.

We, the mutineers, shall remain here,

On our deck chairs, eating cheese, drinking wine,

In front of the caravan, under the azure sky.

 

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