Coffee, Cognac And A Book

In a lonely September garden,
I sit with my cup of coffee,
My cognac and my book,
Turning over deep thoughts.
The wind blows through
The pages of my book
With the smell of grass.

Riffling the pages quickly,
Muddling the letters
In front of my eyes,
Who knows how many
Thousands of words
Both small and great.
Are lost in the wind.

I hastily close the cover,
Pressing it firm with my hand;
Peeking, see all is in order
In a lonely September garden,
With a cup of coffee,
A book and a cognac.

Translation : Angela ROOME