D'am c'hreion

TO MY PENCIL

 

You probably thought you'd been abandoned,

Like something rejected,

That no longer pleases...

You stayed in your dark corner.

The spider, out of pity,

Had woven a bed for you,

For resting,

And for dreaming.

 

With joy I found you again,

You little thing!

I'm happy to caress you

With my sluggish fingers,

You who remained so prudent

In your dark corner

For a whole week...

 

October 1967.