Ah! how I long for blue Skies
After these weeks full of grey!

Gone (it seems) half of January
And I’ve still seen no other color this year
Than that bit of grey sky
In the rectangle of my window.

Occasionally a Bird passes with the speed of lightning.
A curved and needled branch of the blue fir,
Sweeping indefatiguably the grey roof of the shed when there’s the least breath of wind.

And over there further on the horizon
A bare chestnut, and her color as grey as anything,
Straight, however, and stiff as a proud and
serious peasant in front of a photographer.

Ah! how I long for blue and dappled Skies, for joyous Sun and a fresh wind,
For silvery streams, and for green meadows with dawn’s dew on every new blade of grass.

Ah! how I long…

April 1964.

Translated by Lenora Timm

This poem in breton

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