The night is smiling with the moon,
She’s telling stories in the dark.
She has to leave with Venus soon
And fetch fresh air in the park.

A ginger blonde turns on the light.
The sun is still beyond the trees.
The ocean curtains of the night
Begin to move and there she is.

The white sleep of the leafy brake
Is falling in the misty grass.
The turtledove is now awake
And on the streets black women pass.

A beggar’s wailing on the path
And murmurs: “S’il vous plaît, madam!…”
A walking honey made of earth
Is dreaming of a golden drum.

She treads in slumber by the blind
Who’s begging beauty in the street.
A coin is very hard to find,
Her wrinkles very hard to meet.

The tea is boiling in the pot
And I have crickets on my mind.
I wish I could, but I cannot
Acknowledge things that are not kind.