|
It was a day in that blue month September
|
Silent beneath the plum trees' slender shade
|
I held her there
|
My love, so pale and silent
|
As if she were a dream that must not fade
|
|
Above us in the shining summer heaven
|
There was a cloud my eyes dwelled long upon
|
It was quite white and very high above us
|
Then I looked up
|
And found that it had gone
|
|
And since that day, so many moons in silence
|
Have swum across the sky and gone below
|
The plum trees surely have been chopped for firewood
|
And if you ask, how does that love seem now
|
I must admit, I really can't remember
|
And yet I know what you are trying to say
|
But what her face was like, I know no longer
|
I only know I kissed it on that day
|
|
As for the kiss, I long ago forgot it
|
But for the cloud that floated in the sky
|
I know that still and shall forever know it
|
It was quite white and moved in very high
|
It may be that the plum trees still are blooming
|
That woman's seventh child may now be there
|
And yet that cloud had only bloomed for minutes
|
When I looked up
|
It vanished on the air
|
|
|
|
-----------------
|
Remembering Marie A.
|
David Bowie |