The dark trees move gently
In the cold breeze
They seem to wave goodbye
To the setting sun
I tighten my coat and walk
With my back to the wind
Along the extended misty meadows
Towards the canal
The pale light of afterglow fails
I turn around:
Orange and dark blue
Beyond the trees
Birds like small grey spots
On the dark-blue sky
Fly accross the quiet picture
Towards the south
Only the cold assures me
It's not a dream
It seems time doesn't pass at all
Don't expect anything to happen
L'Eglise
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