We present this work in honor of the 100th anniversary of the poet’s death.
Blue… blue… blue was the sky.
You aroused the gentle breeze of summer.
The velvet of the prairie had started
to brown where the river formed a pool.
At a distance, the smoke of a chimney,
like the untouched veil of a bride,
rose until it lost itself in the void
in an ondulant and silent flight.
Suddenly you said: “My love is
pure and gentle, somewhat like that river
that rolls yonder, over that far terrain”
and you looked at me, quiet, serene,
with your soul peeking out of your pupil.
And your soul was as blue as the sky.