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Twenty-four hours

She loves me, she loves me not (originally "effeuiller la marguerite" in French)

By Tony HerlinPublished 11 months ago • 1 min read
Twenty-four hours
Photo by Freya Ingva on Unsplash

The first hour is sweet,

a sweet delight for my eyes

Seeing through the glimmer of a reflection

When the sun has just risen.

*

Until the twentieth hour, everything blends together

Emotion, doubt, and insomnia

It's like a daisy being stripped of its leaves

A little, a lot, passionately, madly.

*

For the next three hours, a forgotten leaf

It lay there on his flushed cheek

This Marguerite is suddenly transformed into a rose

There's nothing I can do about it, I suppose.

*

Twenty-four hours into the starry night

A shooting star has just lit up

I make a vow to no longer be afraid,

And that all these hours will fade away.

inspirational

About the Creator

Tony Herlin

A dreamer who neither speaks nor writes English, a difficult but highly instructive exercise. (Please accept my apologies for any inconvenience caused).

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    Written by Tony Herlin