An delioł kentań

THE FIRST LEAVES

 

Sunday they were still grey

And their branches naked,

The row of poplar trees

So tall and so thin

On the edge of the meadow,

Contemplating their image,

In the dark water of the Leger.

---Today they've changed color.

They're neither pink nor yellow,

Nor are they at all green.

It's a subtle shade, known only

To the Great Painter...

Tender, delicate and fragile,

Like an idea germinating

In the mind of a child.

 

January 1963.