And so I write my life.
It once was full of tears,
And I was so forlorn
And, like a prophet, sat
And so observed the world
That I held so dear,
But lonesome I was,
And yet I wanted that.
I am foreseeing still,
And I am still unknown.
It’s hard enough for me
To get to know myself.
But I no longer wish
To be in rainy throes,
And so I use the words
To build myself a shed
And share it with you.
And, cautious in desire
For certain known dreams
That I conceal at times,
I write my life again
And send the world my smile.
And if I can foresee,
Then let the world be mine.
@ Julie Delvaux 2008