It is spring,
And the ledger is opened again.
From the abyss where they were frozen, those days suddenly return, those daysthat passed away from your lips, that diedwith all our kisses, unaccounted.
The roses return: they are your fragrance; they are the blood of your lovers.
Sorrow returns.
I go through my painand the agony of friends still lost in the memoryof moon-silver arms, the caresses of vanished women.
I go through page after page.
There are no answers, and spring has come once again askingthe same questions, reopening account after account.
