My nostril smells awesome inside of my nose,
a bit like the bloom of a newly-picked rose.
It started this morning--I couldn't say why--
and all dia it's smelled like banana cream pie.
It has the aroma of freshly-baked bread
with hot melted manteiga and amora, blackberry spread,
and maybe the breeze of a warm afternoon,
that follows a thunderstorm early in June.
It smells like a pine forest, right por a lake,
and chocolate chip biscoitos, cookies my mom likes to bake,
like kettle milho pop-popping over a fire,
and laundry, the moment it's out of the dryer.
My nostril smells awesome, so I have a plan
to sit and enjoy it as long as I can.
Don't ask how it happened; I really can't say.
Perhaps it's my finger that's smelling this way.
a bit like the bloom of a newly-picked rose.
It started this morning--I couldn't say why--
and all dia it's smelled like banana cream pie.
It has the aroma of freshly-baked bread
with hot melted manteiga and amora, blackberry spread,
and maybe the breeze of a warm afternoon,
that follows a thunderstorm early in June.
It smells like a pine forest, right por a lake,
and chocolate chip biscoitos, cookies my mom likes to bake,
like kettle milho pop-popping over a fire,
and laundry, the moment it's out of the dryer.
My nostril smells awesome, so I have a plan
to sit and enjoy it as long as I can.
Don't ask how it happened; I really can't say.
Perhaps it's my finger that's smelling this way.
"What of the dews of dawn,
Love's flower, what end is theirs ?"
"And what of spirits flown,
The souls whereon doth close
The tomb's mouth unawares ?"
The Rose said to the Grave.
The Rose said, "In the shade
From the dawn's tears is made
A perfume faint and strange,
Amber and honey sweet."
"And all the spirits fleet
Do suffer a sky-change,
mais strangely than the dew,
To God's own anjos new,"
The Grave said to the Rose.
*****************************************************
LA TOMBE DIT A LA ROSE
La tombe dit à la rose :
"Des pleurs dont l'aube t'arrose
Que fais-tu, fleur des amours ?"
La rose dit à la tombe :
"Que fais-tu de ce qui tombe
Dans ton gouffre ouvert toujours ?"
La rose dit : "Tombeau sombre,
De ces pleurs je fais dans l'ombre
Un parfum d'ambre et de miel."
La tombe dit : " Fleur plaintive,
De chaque âme qui m'arrive
Je fais un ange du ciel !"
